


See the Stars

by FeathersInTheBasement



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: AU, Angry Thorin, Dungeons are no fun, Imprisonment, M/M, Men who are mean, Slash, Smut as well, There are much better ways to be chained, There will be pining, Thorin hates tall people, and kissing, burglar!Bilbo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-10
Updated: 2015-03-06
Packaged: 2018-02-24 21:29:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 62,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2597033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeathersInTheBasement/pseuds/FeathersInTheBasement
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin Oakenshield, the crowned prince of Erebor, is captured by a rogue group of men outside of Mirkwood. He is taken to a secluded fortress and imprisoned in the dungeons below.</p>
<p>He expected the horrible quarters and meager rations. He did not expect to have a hobbit for a cell mate.</p>
<p>But no one could possibly anticipate Bilbo Baggins.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“My father will pay your ransom, and then I will kill everyone of you.” Thorin declared as darkly as he could. His blood was pounding through his veins, making his ears ring with the hatred he felt. He was fettered like some common criminal, with chains that were apparently meant for a child. They bit into the skin at his wrist and ankles painfully, but his captors had no care.

He was a prince. The crowned prince. He was the most important prisoner they had ever, or would ever, capture. He should be locked in a fine room, not chained. He would murder them for this treachery.

He would murder them for the dwarrows they murdered. His guard was violently killed before his eyes. They had not been his usual guard, but it had hurt none the less to watch them die and be incapable of doing anything.

“You will do nothing.” The men’s leader, a man in black leather with dark hair and a haughty smile, bragged. He leaned close, his arms crossed over his chest in what he probably thought was an impressive and intimidating stance. He had nothing on the muscles of dwarrows, or the height of elves. He was clean shaven with bloodshot eyes that spoke of drinking. “You have no power here. Your father will pay, and then we may release you.”

The prison was a disgusting place the likes of which Thorin would not have even chained an elf up in. No one else was in it, either. There was all forms of vermin skittering about, dirt coating everything, the floor was nothing more than mud with a bit of hay tossed about as though it would make the ground anything but slick and squishy. The cells were built partly of stone, and partly of iron bars. The wall on the back was made of thick stone with no window to see the sun. The walls on either side were half rock, and then solid bars. The front of the cells were bars. The lock was a barrel lock. Simple enough to pick if one had the proper equipment. Nori had been very thorough in training him about such things.

Thorin had nothing. Even the beads in his hair had been stolen from him. He was clothed in his shift, tunic, and breeches, but that was it. All the rest of his clothing, his boots as well, had been claimed by the man in leather.

It was infuriating.

The door was pulled open and he was shoved inside with a kick to his back. He nearly stumbled but caught himself. Once he was righted he walked into the room with purposeful strides. A man followed him inside while two other guards aimed crossbows at his chest.

As if he would actually chose this moment to escape.

The cuffs on his arms were unlocked and the manacles around his bare ankles released. The man gathered them up and stepped back to join the leader outside the cell as the door was clicked shut with a resounding snap.

“We’ll see, Highness, who asks for mercy first.”

He made no verbal response. He simply spat on the man who snarled and stepped back with a shake of his hand. The men all left with a final glare, and he was alone in the small, chilly, cell.

He glared at the door for a moment before turning and examining his new quarters. If he stretched his hands out he could very nearly brush either wall. It was longer than it was wide, but not by much. There was a small pile of hay in the far left corner, which was probably supposed to be his bed, and a metal pot next to it. There were manacles against the right wall, which he ignored. There were lines scratched into the stone above the bed, which irritated Thorin. If a prisoner had obtained an object sharp enough to scratch into the wall with, he had something he could escape with.

It was probably an elf.

He took a seat on his future bed and pulled the laces from the sleeves of his tunic. It was a decorative thing that did nothing for function. He needed them for something else anyway. He pulled what remained of his unraveled braids out and set to putting them right. It was soothing work that would allow his mind time to clear and think.

He wouldn’t let them keep the beads. They had been his mother’s, grandfather’s, and brother’s. He would find them again and slit the throat of the man who had dared to take them.

He wasn’t even certain of where they were. He’d been ambushed outside of Mirkwood. Accursed elves! They should have taken better care guarding their lands. If they had, much could have been different.

Every member of his guard had been murdered, and he had been knocked unconscious. He’d woken up later to find himself bound, gagged, and covered with a burlap hood.

It had smelled of blood.

They’d traveled for over a week. He was only unhooded in the evening and morning to eat a bit of crusty bread and some sort of gruel. He was kept in a carriage where he couldn’t see anything but the guard and lady assigned to feed him. She had blond hair and sad, green eyes.

He’d have spared her if he’d managed to escape their clutches.

He was now in the bandits fortress. It was an old castle that had the appearance of a long abandonment. They had likely not lived their overly long.

“Rhaich!” The curse echoed off the walls, sharp and shrill, making Thorin’s heart pound as though Balin’s magic fire had blasted off. “Pe Chennas! Ego mibo roch!” The words, which sounded rather like elvish but without the proper lilt, echoed off the walls and through the air. The rattle of chains could be heard, along with what sounded like the smack of skin against skin.

He spotted two guards coming around the corner with a child that was struggling and spewing insults. He’d been fettered as well and it made something angry twist in Thorin’s belly to see someone so small treated so cruelly.

What kind of people had he landed with?

The door to the cell to his left was open and the child shoved inside. The guard removed his chains and then shoved him hard again. He stumbled to the ground and the door was clicked shut again before he could get up. He sprang up anyway, and glared up at his captors, curls dirty and in his face, clothes nearly ruined. “I’m warning you-”

“Whatever you say. I don’t believe my master’s right about you.” The guard laughed and grabbed his friends arm to drag him away. The child watched him go with a glare and Thorin realized it was no child.

It was a hobbit. The overly large feet with thick fur, and his curved ears were obvious.

The hobbit stood tall and proud for a moment longer while the guards left until the echo of the prison door locking sounded in the hall. The hobbit lurched forward as the sound of it faded and gripped the bar with his hand. He moaned and exhaled shakily.

“Gandalf,” the hobbit mourned, rocking his head back and forth, “wherever the Mordor you are, please find me.” He slid lower with an ill-concealed groan until he was on the floor. His hand was pressed against his ribs while the other one was still wrapped around the iron bar. Thorin believed it was all that was keeping the hobbit upright.

He hadn’t been noticed yet.

The hobbit was young, probably just of age. His curls would have been a bronze color when they weren’t soiled, and Thorin thought he was a bit thin for a hobbit. His clothes had been of nice quality at one point, but were covered in more varieties of muck than Thorin recognized. He had a black eye, and what he could see of the hobbit’s cheek had a nasty gash on it. It looked like there was a bandage wrapped around his chest which spoke of damaged ribs.

His own chest twinged in companionable sympathy. He was rather bruised, but nothing had been broken.

Who would do such things to a hobbit? What could a gentle creature of the west possibly have to make him be so maltreated?

“You were right. I’ll even admit it if you come get me.” The hobbit continued, still rocking his head against the bars. He held for a moment longer and then sat back on his haunches, wincing as he did so. Thorin couldn’t look away.

“Chin up, Bilbo,” the hobbit said in a lower, gruff voice that felt as if he were trying to mimic someone, “Adventures are fickle affairs. You can’t just pout when it starts to go downhill.” The hobbit unfolded his legs and stretched them out slowly and stiffly. He huffed a breath that might have been a laugh but was a little too pitiful to be sincere. “Oh Gandalf, this is not the adventure I wanted.”

Thorin’s head tilted in curiosity and sympathy, he couldn’t help it. The hobbit in the cell adjacent to him froze, and then turned his head with a quick movement. His gaze landed on Thorin and his eyes grew wide as Thorin stared right back at him.

“Erm.” The hobbit blurted, his eyes so very wide. Thorin tried to soften the hard expression he’d been wearing since he was captured. It was hard to make his face listen. “Hello?”

“Hello.” The hobbit’s eyes were quick to survey him, pausing on his braids before they scanned his face.

“I’ve-have you been here long? I-there hasn’t been another-” He cut himself off abruptly and clenched his jaw. Thorin watched equally as wary. The hobbit had obviously been injured, beaten, but it could be nothing more than a trick. Something to make him talk.

“I was brought in this evening.”

“Well, you have my sympathies. That’s a horrible cell.” It was utterly unexpected and made him pause before answering.  The hobbit had green eyes. Eyes that were the color of leaves in spring. Fresh and vibrant, too bright for so dreary a place.

“And yours is better?”

The hobbit smiled, still wary, but relaxing a little. Thorin would have liked to do the same, but he could hear the screams of his dwarrows as they were struck outside the woods.

He would not relax any time soon.

The hobbit tilted his head a slight bit to the left and indicated something there with a half wave of his hand. “I, good sir, have a window.”

Thorin leaned forward to look at the indicated wall. At the very top, nearly pressed against the ceiling, was a tiny thing about three hands wide and long. A window. He wondered if the stars would be visible through it. He hadn’t seen stars in a week. Starlight always made Erebor glow with an ethereal light at night. It was something he could feel on his very skin. A refreshing coolness that was unlike anything else.

“I’m Bilbo. Bilbo Baggins of the Shire.” He gave a little shrug, a sad smile still playing at his lips.

“Thorin. Thorin son of Freris from Erebor.” It was safer to give his mother’s name. His father was known widely, and it was dangerous to let others know of what his status was. Besides, he was immensely proud to be the son of Freris. She had been a remarkable dwarf. She would have the men in this horrible place begging to be released from her fury.

“Erebor?” Bilbo asked, settling against the bars to the cell gingerly. He stretched his legs out and crossed one arm over his chest. “I’ve never been inside the Lonely Mountain. I’ve made it to Dale but Gandalf said there wasn’t time. To look at the kingdom.”

Thorin raised his eyebrow at that. Hobbits never left the Shire. They’d occasionally go to Bree, but that was it. Rangers protected the Shire from outside invaders and the hobbits were too ‘simple’ to warrant more attention. They were widely unknown to the outside world. Thorin had only seen them on his travels to visit Dis in Ered Luin.

“She is lovely.”  Bilbo added after a moment. He tilted his head curiously and studied Thorin again. He settled against the wall and made himself comfortable as he studied Bilbo in return. There was something odd about the hobbit. A curiosity and knowledge that hadn’t been present in the other hobbits he had met.

“As is the Shire.” The hobbit’s smile broadened for a moment before completely fading away. Sadness shown in his eyes. A familiar ache that was throbbing in Thorin’s chest as well. The longing for home and family. “I have kin in Ered Luin.”

The hobbit opened his mouth to say something more but it promptly clicked shut again as a ruckus sounded around the corner of the hall. Bilbo sprang away from the bars, gasped, grabbed his ribs, and crawled towards the far wall. Thorin’s pulse jumped to high speed and his breath caught in his throat. Bilbo let out a wheezy breath once he had his back to the wall. Three guards came around the corner holding two trays with bowls and what looked like bread. They went straight to Thorin’s cell. One unlocked it, one pointed a crossbow at him, and the last put a tray on the ground.  “Happy eating, highness. Hope it’s up to your father’s court.” He nudged it further into the cell with his foot and then stepped back. The guard with the key locked the cell back up and went to Bilbo’s cell.

Thorin glared.

“Are you going to fetch for me today?” The guard asked with a leer that made Thorin’s hackles instantly rise. Bilbo had his hands fisted at his side and was glaring more fervently than Thorin had ever seen a hobbit glare.

“I would honestly rather spend another hour with your Master and his toys.” He spat out, his scowl remarkably fierce for how small he was.

“Perhaps I should just keep this then.”

“Perhaps I’ll tell the dungeon keeper. I’m hardly going to be able to do what they want if I’m starving.”

The guard set the tray down with his leer still firmly in place. “That won’t work much longer. I'll be able to do whatever I want soon.” He paused while backing out and tilted his head in consideration. “Then we shall see you beg.” He laughed with his cohorts, apparently thinking himself brilliant.

Rage bubbled up in Thorin’s stomach as the cell clicked shut. The guards left, still laughing.

“Don’t drink the water yet. It’s all you’ll get until lunch tomorrow. They only bring it every other meal.” Bilbo’s words were quiet and sad as he shuffled forward to grab his tray. “Best save it as long as you can.”  He belied his own advice by taking two very long swigs from the metal cup. Thorin watched, not saying anything for a moment. They had a crust of bread a piece, and something that looked like gruel. He’d had many forms of gruel in his life. It was easy to prepare and traveled well on the road. This looked like nothing more than a bit of flour and water.

Enough to make certain they didn’t starve. They wouldn’t gain much strength with it. He’d be far leaner before this was over.

He pulled his own tray nearer, stealing a look at Bilbo as he did so. The hobbit was smaller than a hobbit should be. His wrist were thin and his clothes were loose on him.

He didn’t notice Thorin’s gaze as he took another swig of water.

“Why do you not save your water?” He asked delicately as he settled back on the bed.

Bilbo huffed, a dry noise that was probably meant to be a laugh. “Because I just got back from a visit with the dungeon master. Gandalf always advised me to stay hydrated when I’m healing.”

“Gandalf?” He had heard the hobbit speak the name several times now, but he was still having trouble believing it. What could the powerful wizard be doing with a hobbit? He took a bite of their dinner while he waited for Bilbo’s response and grit his jaw. They had not even flavored it with salt. It was disgusting, and cold.

“You might know him as Mithrandir, but I doubt it. Stormcrow? The Grey Wizard? The Wandering Wizard? Dwarrows have some name they call him, I’m certain. Obviously I don’t speak khuzdul though.”

The fact that the hobbit knew to call them dwarrows and not dwarves was telling. Any outside of their culture called them dwarves. It was the same with hobbits. Most others called them ‘halflings.’

“I am aware of the wizard. How do you know him?” He’d only met him once. He had been far younger at that time, and the wizard had left suddenly. He’d claimed that there was a matter of dire importance that required him. Fulfillment of some promise he’d made to a powerful friend.

“Through my mother.” The clank of a spoon against metal echoed around in the cell, indication that the hobbit was eating. He didn’t quite want to look. He wasn’t sure why.

He managed a few more bites of his own meal, feeling the gnawing ache of hunger subside a little as it settled. He took a bite of bread and found it better, if stale. “She befriended him in the Old Forest on the borders of Tookland. He’s always been around.”  There was a tearing noise of bread being pulled apart and then the hobbit was silent for a moment. “He takes me on some of his travels.” Bilbo explained around his mouthful. A normal hobbit would have been horrified at the lack of manners, but hunger made manners easy to forget, and lack of them easy to forgive.

They chewed in companionable silence for a few moments. Bilbo gasped suddenly, and made a hacking noise. Thorin’s head shot up to find the hobbit setting his tray aside and rubbing at his chest. Thorin had to hold himself back. He, on instinct, wanted to pat the hobbit’s back until his airways cleared. There were bars between them to stop him, and the injured ribs to consider. He passed his water through the bars instead. He had been given a large glass that morning. He would be fine for a while yet. The hobbit took a sip of it, just enough to stop the dry hacking, and passed it back. “Thank you,” he gasped out.

“Straighten up. It will ease the pain in your chest.” Bilbo did as he suggested with a small wince. Tear tracks were streaked through some of the grime on his face, making the tears stand out. His eyes were watery from the force of his coughing.

“Oh,” he gasped, looking at Thorin with wide eyes. “Freris’ son.” He blinked, eyes large and shocked. “Oh! You’re the _prince_!”

Thorin responded by remaining still and raising one eyebrow. He had no idea what the hobbit intended to do with that information. Bilbo swallowed thickly, nearly coughed again, and braced his hand against his side. “I should have caught that sooner.” He stated with a look at Thorin before he dropped his head and grimaced. “Ransom?”

“So they say.” He took a slow bite of gruel, considering the hobbit. It was clear he had no idea how to handle his injuries. His chest needed to be bound to encourage healing and prevent further damage. “Is that why you were imprisoned? To get to Gandalf?”

Bilbo took his tray back up with a slow exhale and flashed Thorin a pained smile. "No. Haven't you heard? I'm magic."


	2. Chapter 2

“What?” He managed to keep most of the shock out of his voice. He’d never heard of men or hobbits possessing any sort of magic. Dwarrows had once held magic. It had been many a long age since they had wielded it though.

“That’s why I’m here.” Bilbo huffed, looking rather annoyed. Thorin swallowed the last of his gruel and grimaced at its taste.

“Is that why Gandalf-”

“No. I’m a _hobbit_ ,” Bilbo growled, rolling his eyes like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Have you _ever_ heard of a hobbit with magic? I have fairy blood, of course, but that just allows for longer life.” He glared at the lock on his cell. “Not that anyone here will ruddy well listen to me.”

Fairy blood?

“If you truly have no magic then why are you here?”

“Because they think I’m magical and they want me to do something for them. Not that they’ve told me what that is.” He shifted in his seat and winced again. “Yavanna! I can’t move anywhere! If I was magic, wouldn’t I heal myself?”

“That might be their intention.” He said before he caught himself. It wasn’t wise to get too companionable with his neighbor. Bilbo knew who he was, but he really knew nothing about the hobbit. It also wasn’t wise to get attached to someone that he couldn’t protect. Someone their captors was intent on injuring. Attachment would make him weaker. Their captors would find out, and they would use it against him.

He could only find the hobbit fascinating. Nothing more.

“I’m not magic. I don’t have any magic. Gandalf’s never even used magic on me. I’ve only seen him perform magic once, and it was simply to light up a dark area. I’m a burglar.” He sighed, looking young and scared. “Why won’t they believe that?”

“A burglar?” He was imprisoned with a thief. Nori would be cackling right about now. Perhaps the hobbit could pick his way out of the cell. Thorin could reward him handsomely if he released him.

“Of sorts.” Bilbo answered distractedly, he was tugging his vest off. He set the extremely dirty thing aside with a frown of distaste and twisted a little to look at his side. No blood was staining the side of his white shirt, so there was that at least. “I’ve never actually stolen anything, but I’ve snuck into a few places.”  His hand ran over his throat and down his chest as he spoke. There was a strange look on his face that was wary and somewhat lost.

Thorin set his tray aside and didn’t comment on it. He’d already talked too much.

Not that there was anything else to do.

He sat quietly in his thoughts for a while, simply staring at the wall. He had only seen a little of the fort they were holed up in. It was made of rock, but had signs of age on it that made him feel like the men had commandeered what was probably a ruin. If that was the case, the walls might not be as sturdy. He might be able to free a few bricks. It would make a decent weapon until something else could be found.

His father would already be missing him. They were a week behind their arrival in Laketown before he’d been taken. The small fishing town would have been expected to send a Raven on their arrival. With how late they now were… Well, Thrain would have dwarrows looking for him. Perhaps he’d be able to find a way to alert them to his whereabouts. For now he would need to rest and learn the routine of his captors. Once he learned their patterns it would be easier to plan an escape.

He thought for a long while, playing through his memories of the long travel before he realized that Bilbo was silent in the cell next to him. He turned his head to see why, and found him asleep.

The hobbit had curled up in the corner between the stone wall and metal bars. He had the thin blanket wrapped around his shoulders and his feet tucked close to his side. He looked paler in his sleep, and youthful. Far too young, and innocent, to be in such a place.

Yet he was far from innocent by the sound of it. He had seen the world with Gandalf, and Thorin was not so naive as to think he had no skill at burglaring. He would observe the hobbit as well over the next few days.

He’d use anything to aid in an escape.

-[]-[]-[]-

The first week in the prison were miserable, and extremely informative.

Every morning shortly after dawn the soldiers came with breakfast. Gruel, and if it was time for it, water. They then left them to their own devices. The guard unfailingly tried to get Bilbo to service him in some manner, and the hobbit unfailingly refused. They didn’t bother talking to Thorin when it became evident that they couldn’t grab his attention or anger him.

He had ignored the most irritating dwarrows and elves. These men could not hope to break his concentration.

During the recess of morning to afternoon, he exercised and went through his paces with an imaginary weapon. He’d have a weapon again, and he would not get even mildly rusty. He examined the stones in his cell, noting the weak and loose ones. There were three.

Bilbo was entirely different. He napped far more often, which was necessary from his constant injuries. He was taken after breakfast on occasion and would return late afternoon with more bruises and a defeated look in his eyes.

Thorin, despite knowing it was not wise, found himself saving his lunch bread for the hobbit at those times.

If he wasn’t taken for a ‘question session’ he would chatter to himself. He’d recite bits of story or poems in common, elvish, or some other unfamiliar tongue. If he wasn’t talking or napping, he stared out the small window without speaking, tears bright in his eyes but unshed.

And he talked to Thorin. He answered as shortly as possible, but the hobbit seemed capable of making him talk where most others failed. He didn’t try to find out any real information from him, he just… chatted.

And he ended up answering questions from Thorin. He was not nearly as wary as Thorin was about giving away information.

He was forty years old and had a hole in the Shire that he’d inherited from his mother. His father had built it for her as a courting gift with the intentions of filling it with children and warmth. Then he’d grown ill after Bilbo, and their hadn’t been any more children. Belladonna, his mother, had befriend Gandalf and the wizard had always been dropping in while he grew up. When Belladonna died Gandalf took Bilbo to explore Middle Earth. He tended to drop by once a year since then to take Bilbo somewhere.

After a simple week he knew more about Bilbo than he had known about several of the dwarrows who formed his royal guard. He found himself watching the hobbit. He was curious about him in a way that was probably going to lead to heartache and trouble. Befriending the hobbit was a terrible idea.

Bilbo didn’t have a king for a father. He had no one to pay a hefty ransom and threaten annihilation if he was harmed. He had a wizard who had no idea he’d been captured. When the guards believed that he had no magic, they’d kill him swiftly and painfully.

The thought bothered him far more than it should.

He often pretended to sleep while they delivered the evening meal. The guards liked to gossip and he learned information about his captors while they chatted. Currently, Bilbo was laying on his own palette with a pale face and his blanket wound around his body. He’d curled up in a small ball that made Thorin want to aid him.

“I can’t wait to be rid of them.” One guard muttered. “Not long now, right? The ransom note will have been received by now. We’ll get the hobbit to bewitch the prince and then we’ll have our in.”

“Do you really think someone can be ensorcelled that much? To let us into the troves?”

“That’s the point of ensorcelling. He’ll be so worried for his ‘love’ that he won’t even care.”

“What if he doesn’t go along with it.” The cell was unlocked and the guard dropped the tray on the ground with a clatter before kicking it. A bit of the gruel splashed onto the tray.

“Were you even listening? We keep the halfling here, and then he has to listen to us.” His cell was locked back up and they went to Bilbo’s.

They wanted to ensorcell him? They intended to magic him into submission? To make him fall for Bilbo?  

“The hobbit won’t do it though.” The click of the lock and the door was pulled open.

“A man, even half of one, will do anything to stay alive. He’ll ensorcell him alright.” The tray was dropped in the same manner as Thorin’s. “He’ll want to have a prince bewitched anyway. Having royalty follow your every whim? That’s power.” The man snorted. “Even someone as small as a dwarf. Ugly as he is, Erebor is extremely powerful.”

The echo of their feet headed down the hall as they continued to mutter in sordid detail about what they’d make Thorin do if they had him under their power. He felt chilled to the bone with horror and shock. It was a brilliant plan, and all the more frightful for the possibility that it could actually happen. If Bilbo had magic, he could do it. He could bewitch Thorin and make him do anything out of love. Dwarrows were largely unknown by all other cultures. They were misunderstood and judged harshly. Others didn’t understand the depths with which they loved.

The men could not truly understand how severely cruel their intentions were.

Once he fell in love, bewitched or otherwise, he wouldn’t fall in love with another. The burning would take place, and he would be devoted only to the one who caused it. Rejection would hurt, but he would move on after a period of mourning. He would simply never fall in romantic love again. The spell would rob him of any future joy he might find in that regard.

He would rule Erebor without a mate, his heart eternally yearning for someone who had not loved him. Someone who would use him to rob his people.

What was worse still, if the men learned and truly believed that Bilbo could not ensorcell him, they would look for someone who could. Unless he escaped this place, that was doomed to be his fate.

It was several minutes before he could move again.

Bilbo was trembling in the other cell, his breath coming in shallow, quiet gasps as he shook. Thorin sat up slowly, chilled to his very bone, and stared straight ahead. Bilbo curled up tighter in his cell, his curls covering his face. It masked his eyes, but Thorin could hear sniffs from the hobbit.

Had he known? Had he been aware of their plan?

Had he laid awake in terror knowing that he had no magic? That he could not bewitch Thorin or his heart?

“They’re going to kill me.” The words were barely whispered, but Thorin heard them none the less. They were said with a tone Thorin had heard in countless soldiers as they marched to war. It was the acceptance of inevitable doom, one that invariably lead to defeat itself. The person speaking, when their voice reached that tone, had given up. When the individual gave up, there was nothing to keep them alive. They were dead before an ending blow was given.

“Sit up.” His voice was a bark of a command, rough and harsh in the quiet cells. Bilbo jerked at the sound of it and Thorin sat up. “Now.” He ordered again, and Bilbo did so. He looked even paler, and thoroughly shaken. His gaze was dull and his lip trembled.

The fiery hobbit that had cursed the guards who chained him seemed lost.

“How long do they expect you to take to ensorcell me?” He stood up as he spoke so that he was towering over Bilbo. It was a rather cheap illusion of power, but Bilbo had never been in any situation to see through it. That was obvious by the way Bilbo jerked at his sudden height. The line of Durin had been gifted with height, and Thorin had been taught since he was a child to use it.

Alarm was trickling through his veins like lightning across a clouded sky. Sharp and electric, it was all he could focus on and made his body feel as though it were buzzing. They were short on time.

“They don’t… I told them I couldn’t do magic.” Bilbo blinked up at him, his eyes focusing on Thorin’s form with a fair bit of fright. That was infinitely better than the blank stare of surrender.

Thorin could use that.

“Then they will not expect a certain time limit?” Thoughts were flying around his head, pieces of them fitting together to form a wild idea that might qualify as a plan. With a fair deal of refinement at least. Was that not how things were forged? Roughly with details added at the end? Surely thoughts should follow the same path.

“What are you talking about?”

“Answer me!” Bilbo pushed himself up, and glowered at Thorin while propping his hands on his hips.

“Obviously not! And stop yelling at me!” There was a wildness in his gaze that made Thorin marginally relax. He could work with it. A quick glance out the window showed a dark night.

Perfect.

“Sit down and eat. We have much to discuss.” He dropped cross legged  to the floor and grabbed the gruel up off the tray. He considered wrapping the blanket around himself -the cells seemed to always be frigid- but he didn’t want to look weak or childish. He needed Bilbo to believe in him if they were to have any prayer of escape.

Bilbo remained standing with his hands on his hips, his brow furrowed and his eyes on Thorin. He glanced behind himself at the food, and then back at Thorin. “I will not say anything more until you are eating.” He intoned quietly, lifting his eyes to challenge Bilbo. “Or do you not wish to leave this place?”

Bilbo stared back and then finally lowered himself to the ground painfully. He sat still for a moment and simply inhaled through his nose and exhaled through his mouth. He’d grown paler in the minutes of their discussion. He tugged his tray nearer without moving his upper body and glared despondently at the gruel as he shoveled it to his mouth.

“If I ever do get out of here I am finding a decent meal.”

“I will happily eat a salad.” Thorin returned with little thought as he ground the gruel with his spoon. He paused and flicked his gaze up to see Bilbo fervently nodding his head.

Why was it easy to jest with the hobbit?

Such thoughts would not aid with escape. He pushed it away and sat straighter. It was always easier to think with proper posture. He blamed it on his endless training and his mother’s ever watchful eye. “We cannot stay.”

Bilbo didn’t bother to respond vocally. He simply raised an eyebrow that quite clearly said ‘duh.’

“I have seen a total of twenty men. How many have you seen?”

“Ten.” Bilbo’s eyes went distant as he spoke, and he seemed to slump a bit. His hand tightened around his spoon reflexively.

“Be honest with me, are you skilled at sneaking? You mentioned burglaring.”

“It’s not necessarily that I am skilled. More that my entire race is. Gandalf explained it as magic gifted to us by Yavanna. We can go unseen by most others if we so chose. It’s simply a matter of moving slowly and quietly in the shadows. I also have a… well, a trinket.”

Thorin gave him a long stare. He had no idea what to make of ‘trinket’ except that it might have been something from Gandalf. The Shire was a land heavy with magic, though its inhabitants seemed all but unaware of that fact. It was hard for an outsiders to find, and harder still for them to enter with all who guarded it.

Bilbo fidgeted, twitching his nose and looking all around uncomfortable with Thorin’s study of him. “It’s a ring that I found. It allows its wearer to become invisible. I managed to hide it inside of my sword's hilt. If we can get out, it can be used to aid us.”

A ring that allowed for one to disappear. A highly useful trinket for a burglar. If it could be fetched, it should be. They would need weapons anyway. He would not escape only to be captured again because they lacked the necessary weapons to defend themselves.

He would also retrieve his beads.

He took another bite of their gruel, trying not to gag at the cold consistency. It was horrible when it was hot, it was nearly inedible when it was cool. “If my counting has been correct, we should have a new moon. Am I correct?”

Bilbo paused with the spoon halfway to his mouth. He blinked at Thorin for a moment, and lowered the spoon back into the bowl. He set it aside and scooted towards the window. He looked up to see the sky, squinted and tilted to the left.

“Yes, the sky is empty but for a few stars. It’s…” Bilbo trailed off, studying the sky. Thorin’s heart ached to join him in staring at the sky, and burned to know what he meant.

“Yes?” He finally urged, a bit more harshly than necessary. Bilbo jerked, grimaced at the motion, and lowered himself back to the ground with a glare. Thorin felt only a little sorry.

“The stars aren’t right. I was taken near Esgaroth. They… Well I thought we headed towards the Misty Mountains, but the stars aren’t quite right. Unless it’s midnight.”

“Then we’re lower? Nearer to Rohan?”

“I think.” Bilbo frowned and took his tray back up. “I should have paid a bit more attention to Lord Elrond’s lessons on stars.”

What a strange creature he had been locked with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little things:
> 
> *Esgaroth, where Bilbo was taken, is more commonly known as 'Laketown'  
> *The idea of Bilbo having fairy blood comes from LOTR where it's mentioned that the Tooks are thought to be a bit fairy-ish meaning they were believed to have elf/fairy blood.  
> *Yavanna is the valar over growing things, wife to Aule and usually credited with making hobbits.  
> *Enscrolling means to magically make someone fall for you. Sort of like love but more obsession than anything.  
> *I'm going with the whole 'One' thing in that Tolkien does mention dwarrows only asked once for another and would go on without seeking another. I don't really think it would so much be that there is only One person they could ever fall in love with, just that they will only fall in love once.
> 
> Aside from all that, thank you all so much for commenting :D I can't believe that I already have so many people checking out this silly idea!


	3. Chapter 3

There was a strange sense of calm while he finished his dinner. He let Bilbo have a moment to calm himself and eat. He needed the hobbit composed.

Once he was finished with his own meal he discarded his tray and took a sip of his water. He would get another cup in the morning. Bilbo finished his own meal and did the same with an uncomfortable expression. Once he was settled on his ‘bed’ with his blanket around his shoulders, Thorin spoke.

“These men likely know nothing of the true nature of magic. We will use that to our aid. What we need most is time. Time gives us a chance to learn our captors and their defense. It gives us chance to study our prison and its weakness. Therefore, to bewitch me, you will require a potion be brewed.”

“Oh!” Bilbo sat up a little straighter, intrigued. “The moon. That’s why you asked. You mean for it to take a month?”

“Indeed.” The hobbit was more clever than most of his race. Outside of gardening, hobbits were not considered by most to be terribly learned. “Once it is brewed I will partake of it and you can cast the spell to bewitch me.”

“In the interim we’ll be exploring and readying for an es-” The hobbit 

cut himself off abruptly as a clacking echo sounded around the dungeon. The door to the lower level was being opened. The guard had come to fetch their dinner trays. Bilbo curled up closer on himself while Thorin let his eyes slip nearly close. He rested his hands on his knees and found a quiet place of concentration as he listened to each step. He could hear two distinct footstep patterns. The guards unlocked his cell, fetched his tray, locked it back up, and repeated the exercise with Bilbo. A few minutes later and they were once again alone as the cell clicked shut and locked.

“That was close.” Bilbo muttered, uncurling a little. Thorin allowed himself to relax and opened his eyes again. “We have to find a way to talk without that happening.”

“What do you suggest?” He was forbidden to share the secrets of his people. Not even to save his own life. Though khuzdul and iglishmêk would aid infinitely. He could perhaps make a variation on them, but they would need time for that. Time that he did not by any means have.

“Well, they’re not exactly an educated lot. I know dwarrows don’t share their language, so… are you opposed to Quenya?”

“The elf language?” He worked to keep the growl out of his voice and stilled himself from drawing back in distaste.

Bilbo snorted. Apparently he hadn’t quite managed to hide his utter dislike for elves. “The  _ old _ elf language. It’s antiquated and rarely known by anyone who doesn’t study old magic. Outside of the White Council I only know of a handful of beings that can use it.” Bilbo shrugged and frowned before leaning back against the wall with a sigh. “Which doesn’t really help my case about not knowing magic, I guess. That’s the price you pay for hanging with a wizard.”

“Is it difficult?” He could overcome his hate for such a thing. It would aid in escaping, and make it look more as if Bilbo was working to win his heart. A dwarf learning any form of elvish was proof of care.

“I wouldn’t teach you the  _ entire _ language. Just enough that we can communicate.” Bilbo shrugged and tilted his head back. His gaze drifted over the ceiling before settling on the small bit of window. Longing washed over his face. 

“Then I shall learn it.” He already knew common, khuzdul, and iglishmêk. A fourth language would surely be easier to learn.

“Elen.” Bilbo intoned quietly. “Star.” 

Thorin turned his own gaze to the window.  _ Athtur _ .* “Elen.” A star. Lovely no matter the language.

-[]-[]-[]-

Bilbo was far better at acting than Thorin ever would have given him credit for. He instantly read the pride in the guards gait and played up to it to get an audience with the dungeon master once more. Thorin made certain he looked worried as they chatted, trying to relay unease.

The guard then left them to speak with his superior. Bilbo bent at the waist and made a strange noise as he exhaled. He braced his hands on his knees, almost as though he were about to pass out.

“Sit down. You don’t want to fall while standing. Your ribs cannot take that.” Bilbo did as he said and remained hunched over for a few long minutes before he finally straightened and met Thorin’s gaze. 

“Sorry. It just occurred to me what was really going on. If,” his voice broke and he had to swallow. He closed his eyes and Thorin’s eyes dropped to watch his throat work in a swallow. “If this doesn’t go well.”

“Then we will have little time to escape.” Truth be told, Bilbo would die. Thorin would have precious little time after that to escape. 

If that were to happen, he would not rest until he found Gandalf and told him of what had happened to his hobbit. The wizard would see that the entire company of men was forever ruined far more effectively than Thorin could ever hope to accomplish. 

Bilbo swallowed again. “Right.”

“They want you to succeed, Bilbo. They want to believe. Confidence is the key. Act as though you believe it to be true, and no one will question you.”

“That’s easier said than done. Tales and truth are different things.”

“Truth is nothing more than a tale told often enough.”**

Bilbo eyed him, a hint of a smile lifting his lips. “It’s disconcerting to hear a King-To-Be say that. You know, you’re a bit cynical.”

“As you said, I am a King-To-Be.” He said it with all the dignity he could muster, and Bilbo released a honking laugh at it. He abruptly covered his mouth to stifle the noise as his other hand flew to his ribs. The sound had been delightfully unexpected, utterly unguarded in the way only the best laughter was. It pained Thorin to see the brave hobbit in pain because of it even as joy surged through his chest at the sound of it.

“Don’t apologize,” Bilbo flapped his hand in Thorin’s direction, still hunched over. Had he spoken without even noticing? “That was worth it.” 

Apparently he had.

Bilbo lifted his head slowly, eyes brighter and more certain. “It’s been far too long since I’ve had a real laugh of any kind. Certainly not one so unexpected. Gandalf has always told me laughter was the best medicine.”

He straightened up as he spoke and stood stiffly. His courage returned, he greeted the guards with an annoyed glare when they returned.

And the plan was started.

While he was gone there was a small cauldron brought to the hobbit’s cell, along with a pile of herbs that Thorin only recognized a few of. Bilbo was brought back after dinner, which was waiting in the corner for him. He was tossed to the ground and caught himself on all fours. His mouth popped open in pain but no noise escaped even as the guards laughed. Thorin stood up for the hobbit, fury burning in his gut. 

He growled out an ancient curse in khuzdul, one that his father had taught him without his mother’s knowledge. It caused the guards to pause in their laughter. He continued to call them oathless cowards, promising destruction on them and their kin until they retreated.

It took Bilbo several minutes to move, and when he did it was simply to move to the pot. He poked at the ingredients and sat down beside it heavily. The bruise around his eyes was darkening again. It was now joined by a nasty cut on the hobbit’s lips. 

Why would they not take him? He was stronger, thick skinned and tough. He could take far more abuse. Surely he would be more entertaining to beat than Bilbo? He would present an actual challenge!

The boldness of the thought and the strength of the emotions that accompanied it shocked him enough to step back.

He was getting far too attached. Bilbo was even now not guaranteed to live. He had to maintain his guard and keep ready less the worse happened. He had befriended the hobbit unwisely. 

He could not be responsible for the hobbit’s fate. Not when he could not possibly guarantee his safety.

-[]-[]-[]-

The men, as it turned out, really were not terribly clever. Bilbo had requested a wide variety of useless herbs (though he firmly held that there was no such thing) but several of them were healing. Willowbark for pain, rosehip for swelling, chamomile for his stomach, coltsfoot for the sores, and honey for his wounds.

He even got Athelas which, while inert for any who had no magic, gave a pleasant smell and lightened the dreary dungeons. 

He taught Thorin the Quenya words with endless patience, laughing anytime Thorin got annoyed at the pronunciation. 

It was a horribly flowery language. Opposite in nearly every way from the deep gutturals of khuzdul. Bilbo also chatted more regularly, asking questions and answering any Thorin could come up with. He sang when he was bored, and eternally tended the pile of herbs that were sitting in his cauldron. He spoke bits of Quenya over it, very, very little of which Thorin could interpret. 

It was extremely effective. He truly looked as if he was making something. It even smelled a bit odd. Not spoiled, but not quite right. 

If he had not heard the utter despair in Bilbo’s voice, if he had not seen the bruising on his ribs, he would have thought that the hobbit did know magic.

The layout of the fortress was simple enough from what Bilbo saw and Thorin remembered. The trick would be in finding a moment when the guard was sufficiently distracted.

Three weeks in, Bilbo was once again taken. He argued with the guards, insisting they leave him be to tend his ‘brew’ but they wouldn’t listen.

Thorin sat waiting, the time refusing to move quickly. When he could no longer bear to be still he paced around the cell, until he finally dropped to the floor and did a few push ups. The exercise helped to relax him and steady his mind.

He had known he was overly attached early on. It was hard not to be when there was no one else, and nothing to do. How could he not befriend the happy, strange hobbit?

He also needed the hobbit well. He was necessary in Thorin’s plans for escape. 

It was well over two hours later when Bilbo was finally returned. His lips was once more bleeding and he was coughing violently. The guards didn’t dawdle and left without offering any further insult. Bilbo made his way to the corner, the one nearest to Thorin’s cell and furthest from the cell door, and pressed his back against the stone wall.

“They did it.” He coughed raggedly, shuddering as he did so.

“Did what?” He settled by the hobbit’s side, feeling a desperate urge to touch. It was dangerous to feel so, but he could not deny the friendship he felt for the hobbit.

“Broke the rib.” Bilbo gagged on a cough and pressed his head back against the bars to meet Thorin’s gaze. His green eyes were dilated with pain and he was far too pale.

“Can you fetch the willowbark?” He tugged his tunic up and over his head as he spoke. Bilbo watched him with wide eyes before seeming to shake himself and move. “Fetch the rosehip, comfrey, and witch hazel as well!” Thorin tore his shirt off while the hobbit did so and sat back on his haunches. He considered the soft material in his hands and felt along the seam. It would be easiest to break there.  Bilbo was smaller than him so the strips would be long enough. He needed to give the hobbit something to encourage proper healing and hopefully protect a bit against further harm. 

It would only aid their story. Thorin caring for him. Bilbo was playing that the brewing of the potion had to be done in the cell so that Thorin could smell it during the entire 28 days. 

He ripped the shirt into fairly thick strips and set them on the bed so that they wouldn’t grow dirty while Bilbo settled back in front of the bars. Once he had enough strips he grabbed his cup of water up, thankful that the men always gave him more. Being a prince had several benefits. 

He looked up to see Bilbo watching him with wide eyes and a handful of the requested herbs. He grabbed them through the cell, all but the willowbark, which he told Bilbo to take, and mixed it with what was left of his days water.

There would be more in the morning. 

Once he had the poultice at a good thickness he moved forward, grabbing the strips of cloth up as well. He  pressed as close to the bars as he could, staring down at Bilbo who was still blinking wide eyed. 

“Sit up and take off your shirt.” Bilbo’s ears turned red as he did what Thorin ordered. He deposited the dirty shirt on his bed but Thorin’s gaze was locked on the bruise addled chest. 

“Which rib?”

Bilbo let his hand hover over the spot and Thorin pressed still closer. He grasped Bilbo’s shoulder (soft and warm) and hauled the hobbit closer to the bars. He scooped the poultice up in his other hand and smeared it across Bilbo’s chest as well as he could, moving in gentle strokes that wouldn’t add too much additional pain to the injuries.

Bilbo didn’t speak while he worked. He kept his eyes locked at a spot on Thorin’s neck. Once he had the poultice spread thickly over Bilbo’s wounds he took the strips of cloth up and considered the situation. He had long arms, and the bars were widely spaced enough on this side that he could fit his arm through without too much tightness. 

“Move your arms to your sides.” His voice was low, rougher than it should have been but Bilbo obeyed it without hesitating. He pressed forward and passed the cloths to himself through the bars. He pressed one strip to Bilbo’s chest and brought his other hand around as much of Bilbo as he could. He then spread the other hand and caught the edge of cloth between his fingers. His right hand released the cloth and came back around to hold the end still while his left hand resumed the loop around his chest. 

He continued on in that manner. He took time to ensure the chest was pressed close enough against the skin that the poultice would have effect, but not tight enough to prevent deep breathing. 

And still Bilbo stared at his neck. It was disconcerting, and at the moment, Thorin objected to the silence. It was filled with too many potentials. Too many things unspoken and possible. Things that could not be spoken for fear of the dark future. He should like to thank Bilbo, but it would only seem shallow.

“Tell me, Burglar, have you suffered a broken rib before?”

He wound the cloth twice more around Bilbo’s stomach before the hobbit made a response. “Once. Years ago when I just came of age.” He shrugged as well as he could and blinked, his eyes darting up to meet Thorin’s for a brief and far too heavy moment. 

“Tell me of it.” 

“It was Gandalf’s fault, though he denies it. We were traveling to Rivendell for a meeting of the white council when we came upon a burned down house. Gandalf told me to stay while he investigated and-well, through a rather silly string of events I ended up captured and slowly roasting over a fire by trolls before Gandalf found me.”

He pulled back a bit and raised his eyebrow. Silly string of events indeed. “Trolls? As in more than one?”

“Three to be exact. Though it seemed like far more at the time.” He scrunched his nose, finally relaxing while Thorin finished the wrapping. “And they smelled to high heaven. One sneezed on me even! Took me days to wash that...goo off.”

He could picture it in his head. Bilbo covered in troll snot and glaring fiercely up at the wizard while he ranted at him for his circumstances. There would probably even be a stamping foot involved.

“Anyway. One troll’s grip was too tight and it broke my rib. Gandalf healed it after a few days.”

“You were lucky then. Ribs tend to take two months to fully heal.”

Bilbo blanched and glared from under his fringe of unruly curls. “You could have kept that information to yourself.” 

“They are no longer so painful after a few weeks. The main pain comes from exertion, heavy breathing, laughter, coughing. Anything that requires extra breath.”

Bilbo nodded his head, his expression grim and thoughtful. “Someone has suffered through a few then?”

“Several.”

“Thank you for tending to mine.” He nodded his head and tied a knot on the cloth like **Ó** in had taught him ages ago. He had cracked two ribs in his first skirmish. It had not been a pleasant learning experience. 

“You should rest now. Sleep is one of the best aids to healing. Lay on your back and try to keep your breathing steady. Have you any water?”

“No. They knocked it over when they tossed me in. It’ll have to wait till the morning.”

It would.

He sat back and wiped his hands off on the excess cloth of his ruined shirt before pulling his tunic back on. He settled into his own bed and stretched his legs out while Bilbo laid back and closed his eyes.

There was only a single torch to light the dreary, stone halls of their dungeon in the night. Thorin found himself staring at the shadows it cast on the wall while he thought. He retreated to memories, thinking of his sister's laugh and the bright hair of F **í** li as he trained with K **í** li. Dwalin would be near, huffing about the lack of concentration but secretly cherishing the happy sound of their family. Balin would be teaching Ori with Dori watching protectively nearby.

Bofur and Bombur would be bringing in the lunch while Gl **ó** in and Bifur took over for Dwalin with training. Nori would be nearby, silently watching the entire scene before slipping away to join Bofur in serving lunch or tease Ori on his lettering.

He ached for it either way. It had been too long since he had seen them. Any of them. The affairs at Ered Luin had stolen too much time from him. 

He drifted into a light doze, his memories morphing into a warm dream full of laughter and the shine of family when a choked cry drew him out of his slumber. He jolted up, years of instinct seeing that he woke instantly. His head jerked to the left and he saw Bilbo shaking violently as he gasped vainly for breath. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Athtur = Star in khuzdul
> 
> iglishmêk is the sing language dwarrows use. It would be endlessly useful to communicate in noisy places (like mines/forges) without having to shout. Also, khuzdul is secret because it was gifted to the dwarrows by Aule (Mahal to the dwarrows) himself. To let any other understand it would be sacrilege! (I love how secretive dwarrows are. I'd be a dwarrow in Middle Earth ;) ) Though I do love that one of the only other people recorded as actually learning the language was, in fact, an elf. 
> 
> I'm flubbing a bit with Quenya. It's known by a lot of people in Middle Earth (including Ori) but we'll just pretend it's more rare than that ;)
> 
> **'Truth is nothing more than a tale told often enough.' If you recognize that it was because I unashamedly stole it from 'Jekyll' with James Nesbitt. I love the way he says it <3


	4. Chapter 4

Fear prickled at the back of Thorin’s mind. It made him move forward as Bilbo woke with another choking cough. “Can-Can’t breathe!” He gasped out, shaking. 

“Sit up!” It was a barked command and he pressed himself against the bars as Bilbo struggled to sit up. He reached through, catching Bilbo’s shoulder and hauling him the rest of the way up. Panic turned his stomach and made his skin feel chilled. Memories of camp after war filtered through his mind. The cry of his comrades as they coughed foaming blood...

He needed to press his ear against Bilbo’s chest. The rib might have fully broken and pierced his lung. There was no frothy blood to be seen, but the risk of it was making him feel trapped. He could do nothing if such was the case. Nothing but watch the hobbit die. 

“Take shallow breaths. You can breathe, your lungs are fine.” He had no idea if such was true, but he would stand by it until he knew else wise. Bilbo needed air and calm. 

Green eyes locked on his, wild with panic but he did as told. He took small, frightened sounding breaths and Thorin maintained his hold on Bilbo’s shoulders. The comfort of another’s touch - **Ó** in- had helped him when he believed he would suffocate. It gave one something to anchor to. 

Gradually Bilbo relaxed under his hands and regained his breath. He held on a little longer, until Bilbo gave his head a nod. Hopefully his lungs were indeed intact. 

“Thank you.”

“Thanks are not required. I would not allow you to suffocate in your sleep.”

Bilbo smiled ruefully, a dull quality in his gaze. Thorin didn’t care for it. “I’m not sure if it was the pain or the nightmare.”

“Nightmare?” He sat back in his bed of straw and noticed his own heart was beating too quickly.

“Sort of. I was back in the hall with the Master looming over me. They kicked at my chest and nothing ended the pain until I could no longer breathe.”

“Not a nightmare.” Bilbo raised his eyebrow and settled stiffly. He tucked his legs up close and wrapped the tattered blanket around himself. He looked like K **í** li when he was young and would ask for a story. “My father named such things  Askadamab , ‘Shadow dreams.’ They are different from nightmares only in that they actually happened.”

“Askadamab.” Bilbo murmured, his lips wrapping around the word with little effort. Proof of the linguist the hobbit was. “It would be Huinëolor in Quenya. I like yours better. It sounds harsher.” Thorin acknowledge the comment for the change of conversation it was. He would not push on the torture. Bilbo had not yet spoken of it. He would draw on an easy distraction. One that would hopefully see Bilbo smile again.

“Elves can only ever sound flowery. Mahal forbid their words sound like anything else than tinkling, dainty, music.”

Bilbo huffed a quiet, tired laugh and it made Thorin’s body relax marginally. “They are rather… pretentious? More so to visitors. They always act like they're beyond our thoughts and fancies.”

“They have precious little humor to be so ancient.”

“Lord Elrond once got Gandalf drunk and stole his hat.”

Thorin’s head whipped over so fast he felt an ache from it. “ What? ” Bilbo smiled with a sparkle in his eyes as he tilted his head back. 

“He did. It was a merry feast in honor of some star-festival. Gandalf had been insufferable all morning, droning on about some fact that Lord Elrond hadn’t known about. So, at the feast, Elrond switched his wine with a much more potent one, and then stole his hat. Took him forever to ask if anyone had seen it. I half expected him to just try and magic up another one.” He made a small, bubbly noise. A giggle that had Thorin smiling as well. “He’d jinx me if he was aware that I knew. But oh,” he sighed happily. “It was such fun.”

“I prefer Lord Elrond’s company to King Thranduil’s.”

“Well, Elrond’s only half-elven. I also seldom go to Thranduil’s courts. He makes me laugh on his tall throne.”

“Pretentious.” Bilbo laughed quietly again and nodded his head.

It was so very strange to laugh. They were imprisoned in a dungeon where they could only see the briefest glint of light, yet they still found the joy to laugh. At the end of their laughter, when silence fell, he watched Bilbo tense. Hesitant to return to his dreams.

“Tell me of the trolls and the silly string of events that lead to your capture.” Bilbo rolled his head to look at Thorin, a smile playing on his lips that showed he was not fooled at Thorin's’s interest, but grateful for it. 

Bilbo spoke of the adventure, and the night melted away.

-[]-[]-[]-

Thorin was so very tired of gruel, but he was hungry. Whenever they escaped he would find something to hunt and eat. He would even take roots at this rate. Anything but flour and water.

A brace of conies would be delight. With potatoes. Golden, thick logs, roasted over a fire and-

He stood up and paced his cell to clear his thoughts while Bilbo went about stirring the mush of spoiling herbs around in his pot. The hobbit hummed to himself while he did so. Occasionally adding a bit of verse. It sounded like a drinking song. 

Ale. He would love a large mug of it. Frothy and dark with a hint of spice. Valar above, why had the guards skipped their lunch? Were they not to be fed again?

“Why isn’t supper here yet?” Bilbo sat back on his haunches and peered at the door with a shake of his golden curls. “This looks appealing to me. I’m  excited about that gruel, and that is just a cruel place to put a hobbit.”

“Perhaps they think you are bewitching me as we speak.” They still had a few days before the new moon. The plan mostly consisted of getting out of their cell and making for the right. That hall lead to the armory. If they could get there, they could retrieve their weapons and Bilbo’s magic ring. 

Escape would be far easier.

“How do they expect a hobbit to woo without food?” He stood up as he spoke and dusted his hands off on his filthy trousers. 

After the conies he would find a river and have a long soak. He was already lamenting every time he had fought his mother over a bath as a child.

“I don’t imagine food entered into their minds.” Bilbo gave him an annoyed look, as though Thorin was the reason for his growling stomach.

“That is horrible! Bewitching or not, I’d do things properly. Honestly. Whatever happened to respectability?”

It was a sincere question and Thorin was utterly unable to stop a slow blink of disbelief. He gestured to the walls around them and Bilbo blushed. “Need I remind you that you are in a cell? You would use magic to ensnare me. Why should you do so with manners?”

Bilbo leaned back against the bars of the cell and crossed his arms over his chest. A playful smile on his lips. “Well, if I had magic I’d already be out of here.”

“How?” He leaned against the stone wall, the opposite side of Bilbo and considered the hobbit. It was strange to feel so familiar with someone, but still be so unknown. Stranger still that they should never have met. Bilbo had been captured because of him. The longer their imprisonment, the more sure of it Thorin became. They had long planned to capture him, and had simply been looking for someone with magic they could use to their own devices.

Thank Mahal it had been this fiery hobbit with no magic.

“I’d become a mouse and crawl out that window. Hopefully one carrying a disease so that I could leave our hosts with a little gift.”

Thorin nodded his head in approval. Like a burglar, silent and unseen but devastating. 

“You?”

He tilted his head back and considered the ceiling. “I would lock them up.” He swallowed and felt a low hate burning in his belly next to the hard ache of hunger. It had cooled since the initial fire of capture, but it had forged itself into a tight, hard lump that would not be gone until he’d had his revenge. His dead dwarrows demanded it, and the wounds on Bilbo’s skin also cried out for revenge. “I would charm them to sleep and leave them in this dismal place with no window to ever see the sun or stars again.”

“A mountain?”

He shook his head, thoughts heavy with longing and memory. “Our homes are not dark. Others simply do not know how we obtain light. My home is full of sunlight in the day, warm as any elf dwelling, and the light of Varda herself shines in the night. Her starlight catches on a thousand jewels, making the ceiling glitter as her sky does.”

“It sounds...lovely.” He trailed off and tilted his head towards the door, his eyes widened and he sprang away with a motion of his hand that had Thorin sitting down. Bilbo curled up on his bed while Thorin let his eyes slip nearly close.

The guards did not speak as they delivered the meal. The trays were placed down as though they weren’t over an hour late. 

He waited a moment for the locks to click again and made his way forward with Bilbo rushing as well. They settled back in the corner close together as they had been of late. He took the spoon to his mouth and noticed Bilbo still at his side.

The hobbit’s head snapped towards him, his nose flaring and his eyes narrowing in thought.

“Don’t eat that!” Bilbo reached through the bars and tipped the bowl over and its contents fell on the floor with a splash. Thorin’s stomach grumbled in shock as Bilbo set his own, smaller bowl aside. “The orc lovers _drugged_ it!” He sounded enraged. “They tried to render you useless through our  _ food . _ ”

He watched the gruel sinking into the dirt of the floor, already turning it into mud, and tried not to think of the ache in his stomach.

“With what?”

“I-” Bilbo pulled the bowl closer and frowned “a sleep drug. Poppy, unless I’m mistaken. They want you unconscious?” He glared at the spilled food with obvious distaste. It was probably the height of insult to a hobbit to try and do ill through food. Beat them all you want, but don’t touch the food.

They wanted him asleep? 

He exhaled shakily as he understood what that meant. Their wait was up. They would come for him soon, and Bilbo would have to perform the ‘spell.’

Their chance had  _ finally _ come, and there was no time to lose with it. 

“Prepare yourself. Finish the gruel. Did they do anything to the bread?” Bilbo took it in his small hands and considered it. 

“No.” He nodded his head and took it back while he moved a bit of the hay to cover the spilled gruel. He  set the tray near the door and nibbled on the stale bread while he went back to the center of the room. Bilbo was hurriedly eating all that he could. 

“Stall them as long as you might. Try and scare them into shrinking their numbers. We will move when our chance is best. Make for the armory with all haste. I will follow.”

Bilbo nodded his head and shoveled the last bit of gruel in his mouth. He picked his bread up and tore it in half. He caught Thorin’s eyes and tossed half to him. “For health and luck.”

Thorin nodded his head and bit into the equally stale bread. For health and luck indeed.

At the sound of the guards reappearing he dropped to the ground in a gangly pile. Bilbo squeaked in surprise but quieted at the glance Thorin shot him before he closed his eyes to mere slits. His hair was draped across his face, blocking his eyes from view. He watched silently as three guards came, only one with a drawn weapon. It was a crossbow, which would be a better weapon than none, though Thorin was more comfortable with a sword or axe. 

He had expected more guards. They could overpower three. Especially with surprise. 

“The dwarf prince is a fool. He has forgotten paranoia in his castle.”

“He has others to taste his food.” The cell was open and two guards walked inside while the one with the crossbow stayed outside. They hauled him up by his arms and pulled him out so that his head hung and his feet dragged behind him.

“Are you ready, hobbit?”

“Sí*!” Bilbo said and shoved forward. Thorin lunged forward as well, lunging for the man with the crossbow. The men, utterly unprepared for his movement, failed in their grip of him. The man fired off a single bolt, which went high into the roof of Bilbo’s cell, and Thorin had his hands on the weapon. Instead of trying to pull it free he pushed it back, knocking it into the man’s chest, and knocking the man into the wall. The sound of Bilbo’s bowl hitting another guards head echoed behind him as he tore the weapon from the guards hand.

No man or elf every expected Dwarrows to be stronger than them.

He brought it up, adjusted his grip, and swung it around with all his might. It connected with the captors head with a loud, sickening thud, and the man dropped to the floor without a single sound. He turned quickly to see Bilbo being grabbed from behind by the guard he hadn’t hit with the bowl. The hobbit’s feet kicked out wildly, connecting with the man’s knee.

Thorin dropped his gaze to the first man Bilbo had hit. He was trying to push himself up, shaking his head like a dog trying to rid his fur of water. He brought the crossbow down on his head, hard, and lunged forward without a sound.

Bilbo was proving heavier and more wild than the man had clearly anticipated. He was weak though, after so much captivity and torture, and his rib was taxing him.

The weapon in his hand was of Gondor make, a fancy thing that could fire multiple shots without a reload. Dwarrows rarely used crossbows, but they had aided in the design. He pulled the lever down, resetting the weapon and aimed his eyes on the last standing man.

“Limba talan!”** It would disturb him later how easily the elf language fell from his lips. For now he simply watched Bilbo go limp as a boned-fish in the man’s unexpecting arms. He nearly dropped him to the floor, but he did drop him below his waist. Thorin steadied his aim and fired. The recoil sent him back half a step, making pain explode through his fingers at the force of it. He ignored the inconsequential pain and moved forward as the man screamed in pain and grabbed at his bolt-pierced shoulder. Bilbo kicked out at him from his new position on the floor and knocked him down.

Thorin brought the crossbow down on his head, as well. The man went limp and Thorin hauled Bilbo back to his feet. He could hear footsteps above him and took only a moment longer to grab the ring of keys off the fallen man’s belt. He secured his sword as well and passed the crossbow to Bilbo.

Once they were both standing he took another moment to gather both blankets and tie them around his shoulders like a sash. His arms and legs would be free that way, but they would have something to keep warm with in the night. It would be pointless to escape only to freeze to death in the night.

He looped Bilbo’s arm around his shoulder. Bilbo was gasping horribly, but there wasn’t time to make certain of his lungs.

He ran for the armory as well as he could, dragging Bilbo along more than carrying him. The stairs were stumbled up, with Bilbo exceptionally silent.

He let Bilbo go once they reached the door and crouched down. Bilbo mimicked him, his mouth open to gulp in air, which he did without any noise.

He could see why hobbits would make fine burglars. They were silent and small, easily overlooked.

He pushed the door open silently and looked inside. There was one guard by a door on the other side, with his back to them. The walls were decorated with racks of weapons, and there were two chest against the wall to their right. He met Bilbo’s gaze, the green eyes laced with pain and determination. He pointed towards the chest and then at Bilbo. The hobbit nodded his head in understanding. He then pointed at his own chest and the guard before making a jabbing motion.

He received another nod.

The floor was cool beneath his still bare feet. It made it easier to move silently against the floor. He focused on the guard, noting that he wore only a leather vest for armor. The sword in his hand was clunky, lacking the elegance of dwarrow or elven make, but it was sharp.

He made his way across the floor, his heart beating fiercely until he stood behind the man. He reached forward and steadied his grip on the sword. He took hold of the man shoulder, and stabbed the sword forward, through the leather, and into the man’s chest. There was a gurgling cry as the man slumped in his hold. He withdrew the blade and waited a beat to see if he would move again.

“It’s all here!” Bilbo’s whisper was urgent but nearly silent in the darkness. He held a familiar blade up, and Thorin felt his heart thump with gratitude. He hurried across the room, keeping an ear out for anyone else approaching. Bilbo tied his small sword to his side, slipped a chain of something around his neck, and grabbed a leather satchel. Thorin took his own sword, secured it to his side, and gathered his jewelry and beads.

“In here.” Bilbo opened his satchel, empty, and waited. Thorin stared at it for a moment before looking at the items in his hands. It would be painful to part with them after only just reclaiming them. They were his heirlooms. Of great value and importance to his family and it was his duty to keep them safe.

There was blood on Bilbo’s lip and in his hair. It was strange that such things should grab his attention now. Bilbo had born endless abuse to reach this moment, yet he had trusted Thorin. Thorin could trust him with this.

He deposited the jewels into the satchel and stood up. He claimed two daggers in addition to his sword, a bow, and a quiver of arrows for hunting.

The door the guard had been at was locked, but the key ring he’d stolen had a key to unlock it. They made their way down a passage to the left unseen. When they reached another door Bilbo slipped his ring on and vanished from sight.

It made Thorin’s heart race to lose sight of him. The hobbit was already silent in the dark halls, but now there was no sign he had even been there.

He tipped forward slightly, without thought or possibility of stopping himself, and reached for where the honey-haired hobbit had been. His heart thumped and panic flared in his gut.

An unseen hand brushed against his arm. “I’ll just make sure it’s empty.”

Then the hobbit slipped away and Thorin gathered his wits. This was the plan. Bilbo could become one with the air. It was nothing he had not been told about. Disconcerting though it was, it changed no plans. The hobbit would return to him unharmed.

And if he did not, Thorin would simply escape and seek Gandalf out. The wizard would know of the hobbit’s location and well being.

He stood still for far too long, wary of every creak of stone or wail of wind. He could hear footsteps racing down the hall adjacent to the one he hid in, and he feared the worse. He would fight to death to be out of this place, and would not allow himself to be captured again.

He would not allow himself enscrolled so others could steal the wealth of his people. He would cut out his own heart before he allowed it to be used to harm those he would rule.

“This way, I’ve found an exit.” The voice came at the same time as a hand on his shoulder, and it was only his years of training on being silent in dangerous situations that saw him stay quiet.

He turned towards the invisible hobbit and followed the tug on his tunic sleeve. Bilbo invisibly led him down another empty corridor, to a window that was open. “It leads to a terrace of sorts. As far as I can tell we’ll be able to climb down it and head for the forest.”

“Forest?”

“There are rather a lot of trees about a hundred paces away.”

He did as asked and slipped out the window onto the empty terrace. He looked around, his eyes momentarily adjusting to the darkness of the night as the unnaturally chilled air brushed over his skin. There was no mistaking the ruined fortress for what it was.

Dol Guldur.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Sí = Now!
> 
> **Limba talan = Drop to the ground!”


	5. Chapter 5

Thorin had a memory of when he was a lad of twenty summers. His father was returning from business in Ered Luin and had elected to show him the lay of the land between the two realms. He had asked what lay in the south of Mirkwood, and his father had taken him.

They’d stayed well clear of the fortress, and hadn’t actually set foot on its ground, but Thorin had been able to see it.

He had never forgotten the simple towers. They had been truly unspectacular in their design, but the place had felt evil. The very air had been heavy with memory and pain.

They had quickly left, and never spoken of it again.

“Dol Guldur.” Thorin breathed, the air seeming to grow colder around them as the word was released to the air. He should not have spoken it, but he was stunned. There was much power in words, and invoking the name of anything evil seldom resulted in anything but ill luck.

Bilbo’s head whipped around to look at him, his green eyes wide. He had not seen him remove the ring.

“Who would build a base of operations  _ here _ ?” He demanded, his voice reaching a higher, disbelieving pitch as he looked at the ruined, thoroughly evil place. “How idiotic are they? Why not just pick Mordor? At least it’s warm!”

“Calm yourself, Bilbo. We cannot be-”

“We are in Dol Guldur!” Bilbo squeaked, his eyes wild. “I will  not be calm!” He crouched lower, glancing over his shoulder and gripping his small sword more tightly. It was leaf shaped, clearly of elven make. At least it wasn’t glowing blue. “I was given four locations, only four, that I was  _ never _ to enter.” He lifted his hand and lowered his fingers as he spoke the next bit. “Mordor, The Barrow Downs, Angmar, and Dol Gul-bloody-dur!” He exhaled, nearly hysterical in his fright.

Thorin could feel his own skin tingling as though as thousand spiders crawled over his flesh. His gut was churning sickly, and he was shocked he had not noticed any malice in the cells. They needed to move. Now.

He grabbed Bilbo’s arm firmly, taking care not to injure the bruises he knew lay there. “Then may I suggest we make haste in exiting it?”

“Lead on!”

Thorin did so. By some miracle he did not elect to closely examine, the terrace was cleared of guards. What Bilbo had done to clear their way, he would find out later.

They made it off the terrace onto the dead grass that surrounded the ancient fortress when the blast of a trumpet sounded through the air. Bilbo was already breathing unsteadily at his side, but there was no help for it. Their escape was discovered and they would now be hunted.

He hauled Bilbo around so the hobbit was facing him, and then hefted him up with the arm that did not have a sword. He pulled Bilbo to his chest, and the hobbit looped his arms around Thorin’s neck on instinct so as not to fall. He then used his hand to hoist Bilbo’s leg up around his waist and the hobbit complied.

“Wh-“ Thorin gave him no further chance to ask any question. He darted forward, carrying Bilbo as he had carried his nephews when they were children. The hobbit was far lighter than he should have been, but even at a proper hobbit weight, he would not have been too much. Thorin was used to running in full armor with heavy packs. Dwarrows were made to endure, and did not easily tire. 

The long shadows of night offered cover from the sight of others, and he used it to his advantage. Bilbo remained silent against him, still struggling to right his breath. When they reached cover and were a ways from the fortress, he would examine the hobbit’s lungs.

The darkness embraced him and in very little time they had crossed the entirety of the open area to reach the forest edge. The trees grew thickly here, as though they wanted to block the evil from the rest of the forest.

He was not equipped for a forest. He had nothing but a few weapons and the clothes they wore, but he could survive here.

He ducked between the trees, disappearing in Mirkwood as Bilbo’s arms tightened around him.

-[]-[]-[]-

There was something to be said for hobbit sturdiness. He had deposited the hobbit on the ground after they had run a ways into the woods. He’d then set him on a rock and checked his lungs for any damage. They still sounded well, and he found a tight ball of anxiety uncurling in his stomach.

They went a little further until they found a thick growth of bushes. They’d hidden themselves under its cover and took turns sleeping.

Thorin took first watch.

Bilbo all but passed out the moment he laid down. They’d escaped without shoes, and had not had time to grab even a spare shirt from the armory.

Bilbo would have no problem with the lack of footwear, but Thorin’s feet were already throbbing from bits of forest.

They hadn’t spoken yet. The forest felt oddly hushed, as if it was afraid to break the silence of the night. He’d never particularly like the thick, magical atmosphere of Mirkwood. It was too heavy to breathe normally and always left him feeling a little dizzy and slow.

Dol Guldur was in the southern tip of the forest. Judging by the stars he had glimpsed before the vanished into the dense forest, they were continuing south towards the Brown Lands. Men dwelled there, though he did not know their kind.

He would need nothing more than a trader. He had enough gold to trade for supplies. Perhaps there would be a pair of ponies to be had as well. Bilbo would be light enough to ride with him if the need was dire and the supply low.

It occurred to him then, sitting beneath a tree and hidden in a pile of shrubbery with nothing but grass for a bed, that he had not behaved sensibly.

Bilbo, while adventurous, had no idea how to properly survive by himself. Bilbo was injured, and untrained on fighting.

Bilbo was no longer, in anyway, bound to him. They had no reason to continue on together. They had been freed of their prison, and he had seen that the hobbit reached the forest. He should leave Bilbo. Survival would be far, far easier on his own.

And yet he could not.

He owed the hobbit a great debt. They had saved each other, truly, but he would not leave Bilbo until he was certain of the hobbit’s safety. He would escort him all the way to Erebor if that was what it took.

He took his sword, Deathless, out of her scabbard and cleaned her while he watched the leaves silently sway in the wind. They would have a good thirty miles to travel over the next day and a half if they wished to exit Mirkwood. He hoped his hobbit was used to walking.

He knew in his heart though, that he would gladly carry him again.

-[]-[]-[]-

Bilbo had relieved him with a tired grumble he’d been unable to decipher, and a nod. He’d slept for a few weary hours, and then risen with what he assumed was dawn.

It was impossible to tell in the bloody forest.

“I haven’t seen even a hint of any sort of game, but there are lots of berries in that bush.” Bilbo commented casually as he rolled their blankets up. It was the first legible word he’d said.

“That will make a fair breakfast for now. We’ll need to find water as well.”

Bilbo nodded his head, pushing his curls from his face. They’d grown longer than was probably ‘proper’ for a hobbit.

“I found two water skins while I got the terrace open.” He shrugged as if that wasn’t an important piece of information. “They were empty but whole.”

“We will head south,” he indicated the direction, “towards the Brown Lands.”

“Ooh, The Cony!” Bilbo glanced at the direction Thorin was pointing as though he could already see whatever that was.

“An inn?” He stood up and fastened the blankets around the quiver on his back. Their camp was now packed. Pathetically. Bilbo nodded his head and joined Thorin at his side as they went deeper into the forest. He’d found a thick, long stick to walk with.

The berries were plentiful, and tasty. Bilbo also found a supply of roots and leaves that were edible, which he secreted away into his satchel for later use. The forest was not the easiest to travel through, and difficult to keep straight in. They found a stream after a few hours travel where a stag was drinking, which made it seem safe enough.

Because several streams in Mirkwood were enchanted. The accursed forest was all around unfriendly to visitors. Blasted elves and their magic.

They drank their fill from it and filled their water-skins. He checked Bilbo’s ribs once more and made a mental note to buy herbs in whatever town he found in the Brown Lands.

It was strange, perhaps, how easily he fell into companionable silence with Bilbo. His kin were the only ones he had ever truly relaxed around. All others had to keep him on a different level. He was a Prince, royalty, not someone that others could relax around. As such, he often found himself watching others interact.

They seemed to think his life easier. As if being royalty meant that life was all feasting and enjoying others serving you. Truthfully, Thorin spent more of his time traveling, fighting, training, and debating than anything else.

Bilbo had never really known him as a prince. They had been nothing more than prisoners, cell-mates. They had no status to separate them.

He enjoyed it more than he should. The hobbit was a friend, and one he would keep.

They traveled far enough that the woods grew lighter, and the air more clear. Bilbo brightened as they reached the forest’s edge, his eyes almost permanently fixed to the sky. He came alive under the starlight. His green eyes seemed brighter, and his dirty skin almost glowed. Threads of red were evident in his bronze curls, and he didn’t look quite so ill as the long capture had made him.

Thorin found himself staring at the hobbit more often than the stars he could finally see again. Bilbo, for his part, stared unashamedly at the stars he could glimpse through the tree tops and opened his mouth.

__ Now let the song begin! Let us sing together   
Of sun, stars, moon and mist, rain and cloudy weather,   
Light on the budding leaf, dew on the feather,   
Wind on the open hill, bells on the heather,   
Reeds by the shady pool, lilies on the water

He had heard Bilbo sing on several occasions, and it never failed to make him long for his own halls. On nights of feast the halls would ring with the voice of his people. Their songs would echo around until the very stone beneath their feet shook with the might of it.

“An original?”

“No, it was sung by a man who lived on the edges of the Old forest. The most interesting character you could ever meet.” His smile was quick, if a little wry. “These forest remind me of that place. It was sick with magic as well.”

Sick with magic. A very apt description of the dying woods. “Many of the forest in this world are.” Bilbo’s responding grin was broad and heartfelt. It gladdened Thorin to see him so.

“I think that’s your dwarf nature talking. I’m sure elves would say the same of your mountains. I’ll take a garden instead, if you please. Or a nice, open field.”

“At least caves do not have streams that make you sleep.” It had never occurred to him that Bilbo might be opposed to Erebor. It had seemed obvious that they would head there. Just as it had seemed obvious that they would do so together. It was his dwarf nature that made it odd to think of anyone opposing to a mountain.

“Can’t say as I haven’t actually been in one. Right now I’d most like an inn though. A soft, feather bed and a warm fire.” He wrapped his arms around his chest and looked at the stars again.

“A large meal and a bath.”

“An ale.”

Light as he tried to keep the banter, he was anything but. The woods were still far too quiet, and their escape seemed too easy. They had traveled for a full day and seen no sign of a search.

If their captors had gone to the trouble of murdering his entire guard, and kidnapping someone they believed to be magic, surely they would hunt them down?

“I want a handkerchief as well. I can’t remember the last time I had a proper handkerchief.”

His head snapped towards the hobbit who was walking a bit more unsteadily. He had his arm pressed against his side in what he probably thought was a subtle manner. He stopped walking and considered their location. “A handkerchief?”

“Gods yes.” Bilbo stopped as well and freed his wineskin from his side. He took a long drink of it and Thorin found his eyes dropping to watch the hobbit’s throat work. It made him warm, for some reason.

He swallowed and looked at the trees that surrounded them. There were no bushes nearby, none so convenient as they had found the previous night. If they wished for cover, they would have to take to the trees.

He was not overly fond of the idea, but Bilbo needed rest. He could not let the hobbit walk farther, not while he was trying to heal. The branches here were low enough that they could climb, though it would likely be uncomfortable. Still, hobbits were close with nature, so Bilbo would at least know  how to climb a tree. They could lie together and use the bits of leather from their scabbards, quiver, and Bilbo’s satchel to tie themselves to the tree… 

The idea was exciting. He had not been anywhere high since the misty mountains. The oak tree nearest them was sturdy enough, and had plenty of leaves to conceal them. 

“Do you like Oak trees?”

It nearly made him laugh. Any other would know his attachment to that specific tree. Fitting that he should make camp in her branches. Oak trees always seemed to protect him. “Yes. We are going to make our camp in her branches.” 

Bilbo’s eyebrows promptly rose and a surprised, pleased, grin spread across his lips. “Really?”

“Yes. Contrary to your beliefs, Dwarrows can climb trees.”

“It’s not the climbing that’s the problem.”  Bilbo stated, his grin seeming to grow even larger. He went towards the tree as he spoke, tightening the satchel at his side. He wrapped his arms around the lowest branch and swung his lower half up while he did so. His legs wrapped around the branch and he dipped his head back, smiling upside down. “It’s the not falling down bit.”

It sounded decidedly like a challenge. 

Bilbo had made it up two more branches by the time he reached the tree. He swung himself up as well, mind no longer on safety as it probably should have been. It was obvious that Bilbo had climbed many a tree in his life. He was comfortable with the branches in the way of one who was well acquainted with them. Still, Thorin was taller and had more strength. Bilbo’s laugh echoed in the air, wrapping around him as he passed the hobbit. 

He reached a sturdy, hidden branch before Bilbo, and decided it would make a good camp. Bilbo joined him, flush cheeked and breathless. Thorin beckoned him closer, holding onto a branch directly above himself. Bilbo shuffled to him, huffing and curling as much as he could. “Sit down.” He ordered, trying not to make it sound too much like a command. Bilbo did as he asked and shuffled forward.

He pulled Bilbo a little closer and had him sit down to lower the risk of falling. Bilbo seemed very competent but he would not have Bilbo harmed while he looked away because he hadn’t anticipated every danger. 

Bilbo did with a tilt of his head and quirk of his eyebrow. It took only a few minutes for him to hook all the various bits of leather from their items together in a long strip. Once he had it, and he’d secured their items on another limb where they would not fall, he turned towards the trunk of the tree and tossed his combined straps of leather around it. He snagged the end of it and gave it a firm tug. 

It held strong. 

He turned back towards Bilbo and held both ends of the leather in his right hand. Bilbo was watching him with a small smile and a strange gleam in his eyes that made something twist in his stomach. 

He settled down with his back against the trunk and propped his legs on another branch. He waited a moment to situate the leather and looked back at Bilbo.

The hobbit already had their blankets out and was shuffling towards him. “Back to chest?”

“That is all we have the leather for.”

“At least dwarrows run warm.”  He draped one blanket around Thorin’s shoulders with a quick drape and then wrapped his own blanket around his smaller shoulders. He twisted on the branch and pressed his back to Thorin’s chest. He wiggled a little, settling against Thorin and propping his feet up next to Thorin’s. 

Thorin tied the strap around them snugly and spread his hand over Bilbo’s chest. He left it for a moment, feeling the slow expanse of Bilbo’s lungs.

“I will make another poultice for you tomorrow. I spotted a few useful herbs near this tree.”

Bilbo hummed and tilted his head back and to the side, tucking it under Thorin’s chin. His hand rested on Thorin’s leg while his other once fell to his side. He made a snuffling noise and released a long, contented sigh before seeming to drift right to sleep.

** It was a long time before Thorin joined him in rest. **


	6. Chapter 6

He woke in nearly the same position. Bilbo had twisted himself in the night so he was more curled up against Thorin than he had been. He’d even stolen a bit of Thorin’s blanket.

His body ached from the long walk without proper footwear, and the night in an uncomfortable position in the tree. Still, nothing had disturbed them in the night, their equipment was still on the branch, and they hadn’t fallen horribly to their deaths.

Still he was warm, the woods were silent, and he could see sunlight flickering through the leaves overhead. The air felt fresher, and he could almost taste the other side. They had very nearly made it out.

The Cony was only half a days travel from the woods according to Bilbo. If that was so, they stood a good chance of making it to the inn to rest the night through.

A bath, warm food, ale… He could clean his hair and re-braid it. He could even properly tend to Bilbo’s chest.

The hobbit in question sighed sleepily, and then promptly froze. Thorin gave his arm a comforting pat and released his hold on the burglar’s stomach. “You are safe, Bilbo.”

“And rather higher than usual.” He uncurled himself from his spot against Thorin and stretched as much as he could with the leather around them. He made certain Bilbo was gripping the tree, and he untied them from it. Separated the bits of leather and put them back where they belonged. They gathered their items and made a slow decline down the tree. They gathered what food and herbs they could find, and refilled their water skins for the days travel.

He refreshed the poultice on Bilbo’s chest with a strange, tight feeling in his own as he worked. The swelling and discoloration of the bruises had gone down a bit thanks to the herbs, which was a glad sight.

Bilbo hummed while he worked, his head tilted towards the sky and his green eyes closed as he sought the suns warmth. It made the tightness ache.

The woods were easier to make their way through than they had been. The trees were no longer so tightly packed together, and the grass even felt softer against his aching feet. Bilbo, of course, with his thick soles went without problem.

He found himself telling stories about his family and growing up under the mountain as they walked. He spoke of memories he had not even though on in years, and Bilbo laughed with joy at the rather ridiculous circumstances he had often found himself in. He smiled at the sound of it and could not help but look at the way Bilbo’s matted curls seemed to flash with sunlight.

When they were finally clear of the woods Thorin took more care in scanning the area. He withdrew a weapon and beckoned for Bilbo to be quiet.

“Danger?”

“A greater possibility of it. Do you know where the inn is?”

“If we can find the road I certainly can. It’s south of Mirkwood.”

“Then south we will head.”

-[]-[]-[]-

And south they did head.

The day was pleasantly warm with a hint of the approaching winter in the air. The land was graciously smooth and flat, easy to travel in. There was no sign of other travelers, or more nefarious creatures.

The road was found through good fortune, and they followed it until the sun had set to find a small village.

The Cony stood at the center of the group of buildings, and the smell of roasted meat and sound of music filled the air. Bilbo perked up at his side, walking more quickly as they neared it.

They were the only non-human in the place. The moment they entered the activity in the small place seemed to draw to a stop. The men were tall and lean, weathered in the way that life on the road encouraged. The scent of ale was heavy in the air inside the main hall, and made Thorin’s hackles rise.

Drunk men were stupid men. Men that asked questions and tried things they should not.

“A hobbit? And a dwarf?” The man behind the wooden bar, who Thorin could only assume owned the place. stared down at them with wide eyes behind thick eyebrows. His cheeks were plump and a ruddy red that made him look over heated and tired. He had a stained apron on, and was cleaning a mug.

“Yes. We’d like a room.” Bilbo spoke in a pleasant tone that made himself sound as though he had never done anything questionable and was eagerly looking forward to a nice smoke and soft bed.

“Both of ye together?” The man’s eyes trailed over Bilbo slowly before darting to Thorin, raising his eyebrow incredulously. It made a hot, angry, thing roll through his stomach and cause his fist to clench at his side.

“Yes, together.” The man’s eyebrows raised even higher. “He is my guard.” Bilbo blurted. He blinked, looking mildly surprised at himself, grimaced, and promptly stood straighter. He squared his shoulders, took half a step forward, and nodded. “Yes, my guard. I paid a good deal to make certain I reach Dale unharmed. He comes from Ered Luin. The rest of our business is our own.” The inn-keeper stared at Bilbo suspiciously for a long moment before turning his gaze on Thorin. He glared for all he was worth and felt a fierce sense of accomplishment when the man blanched and looked back at Bilbo.

A guard. He could work with that. It also drew more attention to Bilbo instead of Thorin. Attention was something they could ill afford, Thorin less than Bilbo. Men that lived in the wild were seldom ever not the type of men who would take advantage of a prince.

“That’ll be three silver pieces for a night.” Thorin reached into his pocket for the stolen money and laid three silver pieces out. He gave the bag a subtle shake and stared at the inn-keeper who couldn’t quite seem to move his eyes from the bag.

He could make use of greed. “Tell me, is there someplace around here where we might buy a pony and supplies?” He carefully pulled another coin out and rolled it between his fingers.

The man lifted his gaze and smiled.

-[]-[]-[]-

The room was exceptionally modest. Far smaller than anything Thorin had slept in before his capture and resulting imprisonment. Still, it had a bed and a bath that servants filled. Even if the bed had a straw mattress, thin pillows, and threadbare blankets. He didn’t care.

It was just a bed as well. Only one. It was made for a man, so they would both fit. He was not sleeping on the floor, and he wouldn’t let Bilbo do so either.

He took the first bath while Bilbo ate supper. (It was some sort of beef stew that smelled divine.) It was difficult to cleanse the month of grime from his skin and hair, but he managed to rid himself of all signs of his imprisonment.

He emerged from the tub in a new, simple tunic and soft braies while his clothing dried across the floor by the door. Bilbo was finishing a second bowl and looking far better for it.

“Yavanna’s shining curls, that hit the spot.” He gave his head a little shake and sat back with a happy sigh that made Thorin feel warm and calmer. He called for the servants to fetch another bath and set about untangling his hair while they lugged buckets of warm water up the stairs.

Bilbo, much to Thorin’s silent amusement, fixed a third bowl of soup and proceeded to eat it with just as much relish as he had eaten his first bowl. He finished it at the same time the bath was filled, and hurried to clean himself. He carelessly shucked his shirt and breeches as he went towards the bathroom, and Thorin found himself unable to look away from the muscles working in Bilbo’s back. His skin was smooth and soft looking in the candlelight, unmarred by scars or burns like Thorin’s own skin. It had a hint of goldness that spoke of sunbathing and warm places.

He averted his gaze when Bilbo slipped into the bathroom and swallowed thickly.

That was a worrying development.

He sought to distract himself with the soup. It was warm and thick, and ever so much better than the gruel he’d had for endless months, but not enough. It was not nearly enough to distract from the sound of Bilbo singing and splashing in the bath as he cleansed himself. His hair would shine, and he wondered what color it would be when there was no dust, mud, or blood in it. His green eyes would be bright with delight, and his skin would be soft and warm.

He pushed the thoughts away and stood up, pacing the room as he tried to focus on something else. Erebor was a good month of travel away, and they would have to be secretive. There was only one pony to be had in the town, which meant they would have to share and-

Ma- _hal_. The hobbit would be pressed in front of him. Close enough for Thorin to feel his warmth and smell his curls and -he was losing his mind from the mere thought of it.

He sat down on the edge of the bed, and promptly abandoned it for the wood floor. He closed his eyes and re-braided his hair while he quietly sang the song of Durin’s Awakening to distract himself. It worked well enough that he didn’t hear Bilbo emerge from the tub or enter the bedroom again.

He didn’t notice the hobbit’s presence until he opened his eyes to see a hand holding his beads in offering. He blinked, trying to still his now racing pulse, and accepted the beads. He clasped the smaller silver beads over the two braids that marked him as Durin and a warrior, and clasped the golden beads over two hanks of hair behind his head as always. They were gifts from his father and mother and would not be used until he asked someone to court him.

No other hand but his parents had ever touched his beads before they were stolen.

“What do they mean?” Bilbo asked quietly as Thorin fastened the last beads, small green ones, in his beard. “The braids,” he clarified when Thorin looked at him. His curls were closest in color to bronze. There were strands of glistening gold and vibrant red in their mix.

He lifted the knotted braid as he stood. “This is a braid of battle. I was awarded it after my first war to show that I am a warrior.” Bilbo nodded his head, his eyes wide with interest. He indicated the two braids in his beard, “These show that I am also a smith and of age.”

Bilbo’s smile turned oddly teasing at that. He lifted the seven strand braid next, grateful that it was finally properly cleaned. Dirty hair was horribly disrespectful to other dwarrows and Mahal. “This is a braid of Durin. It shows my status as one of his bloodline.”

“That’s what you were singing. The Song of Durin’s Awakening.” He could not tell if it was a statement or question, and he could not find himself caring which it was when Bilbo reached out with his fingertips and stroke the length of it.

“It was.”

“What do the other beads mean?” His fingers trailed over the silver bead that held his braid shut as his gaze lifted to meet Thorin’s. “The gold ones?”

“They are for when I find my One.”

Bilbo nodded his head and stepped back, removing his hand from Thorin’s head. It made it almost instantly easier to think.

The hobbit went towards their bed, flicking his hair out of his eyes with an annoyed motion. He had forgone the shirt and was simply wearing braies. His chest, while still mottled with bruises, had lightened since even that morning. Thorin would need to put more poultice on it.

Bilbo took his time spreading their stolen blankets over the bed, flicking his hair out of the way while he worked. Thorin watched until he could not longer stay silent.

“May I braid them for you? That will keep your hair from falling into your eyes until a pair of shears may be found.” The idea of trimming the shining curls was horrible to Thorin’s every instinct, but he would not make the hobbit stick to his culture. They had already grown far longer than most hobbits would find respectable.

Bilbo had no reason to keep them long.

“Will it be much trouble?” Bilbo faced him as he spoke, a curl once again falling into his eyes.

“No.” A moment later he found himself on their shared bed with Bilbo sitting between his spread legs, humming lightly while Thorin worked the tangles from his silky hair.

It was so soft and smooth under his fingers. Delicate in a way dwarrow hair rarely was. A true pleasure to work with. It had been a long time since he had done such delicate braid work, but he found the actions soothing now.

He didn’t think about the numerous taboos he was breaking, or any style he might braid in. He simply let his fingers do what they wished to hold the hair back.

“We’re making for Erebor, right?”

Thorin nodded his head slowly and continued to wave the hair. “Yes."

"They’ll want to know anything I can tell them about our captors I suppose. You… you won’t mind my staying there until Gandalf can come? I-er…” He broke off and fidgeted with hi. Thorin kept his gaze steady and calm. It was simple attraction, he could not let it be anything more. “I don’t want to try and go back to the Shire alone.”

If Gandalf could not be found, he would give Bilbo at least a dozen soldiers to escort him home.

He avoided thinking about the fact that his home would _not_ be Erebor. There was no reason to cling to the hobbit. The… the _Burglar_ , was free to go wherever his large feet led.

He had been a prisoner for far too long. Thorin would not keep him captive in his mountain.

Bilbo dropped off to sleep by the time he was finishing the braids off. He slumped back against Thorin’s chest with a soft huff of air, and went utterly lax. He sat unmoving for long moments, at an utter loss on what to do. Bilbo’s warm weight was far too welcome, and he still needed to tend to the bruises that decorated his injured chest.

He sat still for a bit, leaching warmth from the snoozing hobbit. His thoughts were oddly blank, silent as the night that surrounded him.

When he finally moved Bilbo, it was to a tightness in his chest. His captors had not seen how easily their plans could have come to fruit. They’d not realized what was happening, and he was endlessly grateful that he had managed to block that part of his heart from himself in their dark cells.

When had it started? He had liked Bilbo from the moment the hobbit had cursed the guards-in elvish no less! It had been friendship, one that had seemed understandable. They were both locked up, after all. Shared misery and longing often encouraged friendships.

He had no idea when that had changed, only that it was changing.

The feeling that burned along his veins was not friendship, not truly. Friendship did not have one staring at shining curls and longing to feel warm skin under hand. Friendship didn’t _ache._

He was a fool. An endangered, hopeless fool.

He took the jar with the dried herbs up and mixed a poultice while he thought over what he could do. It was easy enough to spread the mixture over Bilbo’s sleeping chest. Bilbo barely roused at all when he bound his chest, and promptly fell back asleep when he found it was Thorin tending to his wounds.

The trust was welcome, but the way it made his heart burn even more was not.


	7. Chapter 7

Bilbo was a ludicrously active sleeper. Numerous battles and nights spent laying side by side with other soldiers had seen that Thorin very rarely moved in his rest.

Bilbo was the opposite. The hobbit wiggled around, kicked, and clung to whatever he could find. He’d started flat on his back, but had stayed that way for a very short time. By morning he had wound himself around Thorin like some sort of vine. He was sprawled on top of him, his weight warm and settling. His arms were wrapped around Thorin’s chest, and his curly head was tucked under Thorin’s chin. The hobbit had even stuck a leg between Thorin’s and curled it around his calf.

And he smelled of honey.

He extracted himself from Bilbo’s hold with the greatest of care in the morning. The hobbit had wrapped himself around Thorin tighter than a limpet. It took forever to work himself free of the hobbit’s hold. 

When he finally was free he draped both blankets over Bilbo and relieved his own pillow from its case. It was thievery, but he had paid the innkeeper enough gold that he could fetch another pillow case. 

He carefully packed their supplies into the pillowcase and bound the items up into a neat roll. He slipped silently out of the room and locked it again before making his way down the stairs. 

It was early enough in the morning that none of the other guest were up, and the only man he saw was the ostler. He went to the stall where their pony was tied up and secured the pack and extra weapons to him. 

It was easy work that he did mindlessly. He refused to think on anything until he had to. He was in trouble, such trouble. 

Once he had the packs secured to him he took a length of rope off the stall. It belonged to the stable and was another act of thievery and he still did not care. They would have need of such thing if they had to climb a tree again.

He led Sharmon, their long haired pony, outside of the stall and around to the front of the stable before pausing. The pony’s ears twitched at his side, and he could hear voices on the air.

_ “ A dwarf and halfling. He would be tall for a dwarf, mistakable for a man but for his hair. The halfling would look like a child.” _

It was a man’s voice, but not one he recognized. Still, it managed to steal his breath and make his heart pound furiously in his chest. He gripped Sharmon’s lead more tightly and went to the right. The voices were coming from the entrance to the inn. 

They had been found.

He secured the pony-who seemed to understand something was wrong-to the back of the inn and snuck in through the servants entrance. He slipped up the back staircase as quietly as he could and pulled the door to their room open. 

He flipped the lock and shoved the chair under the knob to jar it. He then turned and went instantly to the bed where the hobbit lay. He’d hoped to allow Bilbo a while longer to rest. He’d packed the pony with anticipation of letting Bilbo sleep until noon so he could heal more quickly.

Now he was going to have to wake him and inform him that they were going to climb out of the window.

The rope he’d stolen from the stable felt heavy in his hand. It should be sturdy enough to carry a hobbit and dwarf. He’d have Bilbo cling to his back while he climbed. The hobbit would be too sleepy to do something so dangerous. He might fall and Thorin would not risk such a thing.

Bilbo was curled up on his side with his arms wrapped around Thorin’s pillow. His golden curls were spread across his own pillow in alluring curls, though the braids still held true. He looked peaceful in his repose, undisturbed by the lines of weariness that haunted his waking face.

Thorin’s heart pounded to look upon him in such a state. On another morning he would have gladly stood and watched Bilbo for a long while. Until he had memorized the expanse of his face and the way his curls fell.

There was not time for such things now. Nor could he truly allow himself to look. Not now, possibly not ever.

He laid his hand on Bilbo’s shoulder and gave it a gentle shake. Bilbo stiffened at the movement but still didn’t wake. He gave another shake and tugged the pillow from Bilbo’s hands. Green eyes blinked open blearily and the hobbit regarded him with a small smile.

Thorin moved his hand to cover Bilbo’s mouth and brought his other hand to his own lips in the sign for ‘quiet’ that transcended culture. “Men have arrived at this inn seeking a dwarf and a hobbit.” Bilbo’s eyes widened in shock and alarm. He felt the smile turn to a frown under his palm. “I’ve prepared the pony and gathered our supplies. Are you ready to escape with me?” Bilbo gave his head a nod and he removed his hand from the hobbit’s mouth. He handed the Burglar his tunic and went to the window to tie the rope for their exit.

Bilbo came to his side silent as a mouse. “I’m ready.” He tied the blanket around Bilbo’s shoulders like a cape. He had already stolen three items, he might as well continue in such a manner. He needed Bilbo to stay reasonably warm on the ride. Satisfied that the blanket would suffice, he turned and considered the window for a moment.

There was nothing for it.

He stepped towards Bilbo, ignored the way his heart beat faster at the closeness, and took Bilbo’s hand. He turned so that his back was to the hobbit and placed the hand on his shoulder. Bilbo said nothing but he stepped closer. “Hold onto my shoulders and wrap your legs around my waist.”

“You’re going to carry me down?”

“It will be faster. I am used to climbing in full armor, bearing a pack.” Bilbo said nothing for a long moment then his hands were on Thorin’s shoulders. He pressed down on them and hopped up and, in one smooth move, had his legs wound around Thorin’s waist and his chest plastered against Thorin’s back. It made his breath hitch and his skin tingle unfortunately to feel, and filled his mind with other possibilities he should not have even thought of with their escape such a pressing need.

A thunder of footsteps from the stairs leading to their room made him spring towards the window. Bilbo tightened his grip with a nearly silent squeak of surprise. Thorin grabbed the rope and swung himself out the window. They were only two floors up, so it wasn’t exceptionally high, but dangerous enough of a fall to warrant caution. He propped his feet against the wall, gripped the rope, and pushed fear away as the door to their room rattled dangerously. Shouts were rising in the air.

He made his way down, forever aware of the hobbit holding onto him as he climbed. The grass was firm beneath his feet and Sharmon was ready to ride. He left the rope hanging, regretfully, and climbed up on the pony.

Bilbo jumped up behind him, wrapped his arms around Thorin’s waist, and they took off. There was a long patch of bare ground, but he could see trees in the distance. He rode towards it, hoping that they could make it before the men discovered their absence.

The hobbit pressed close as they rode, hiding his head against Thorin’s shoulder to block the wind. Sharmon was eager to run and the path melted away as they rode towards the trees.

And thus began their journey to Erebor.

-[]-[]-[]-

They made it to the cover of the trees before the clear burst of a horn filled the air.

Their absence was noticed then.

Bilbo ducked lower on the pony and clutched him tighter.  “I didn’t think that would work.”

“I have not seen why any of this has worked. We should not have made it out of our prison.” He quickened their pace and steadied his grip on Sharmon’s reins. The pony seemed to understand and picked his way through the trees without leaving their cover. The horn blasts grew louder. Mirkwood was to their right, several hours away. There would be trees sporadically between them, but miles of open area to ride through. They would be safer riding along the edge of the forest. Grim and overrun though it may be, it was harder to chase on horse through trees than on field.

“Luck is on our side, apparently.” Thorin made no response and Bilbo chuckled. He sat up a little bit, pulling on Thorin a little as he did so. “She’s probably trying to make up for how badly she failed us in allowing us to be taken prisoner.”

“Perhaps.” Another horn blast sounded from behind, and Sharmon seemed to move more swiftly. Their pursuers weren’t closer yet, but they were too near for comfort. It was likely that they would be hunted all the way back to Erebor. He felt Bilbo try and suppress a shiver against him. 

“How long were you there before I arrived?

There was no answer for a while. He feared he had brought dark memories and regretted asking the question. It had been burning with in him for a long while, but he had never spoken it. He did not want to be the reason Bilbo ever lost a smile.

“A week? The days were hard to count though. It might have been longer.” His forehead rubbed against Thorin’s shoulder in a rocking motion and he was forcibly reminded of the first time he had seen the hobbit. 

He’d had no idea what was in store for him at that time. 

“Were you captured alone?”

“Yes.” Bilbo’s nose brushed his back and the hobbit straightened a little. “I was heading towards an adventure, I was certain of it. They caught me while I slept and took me there. I was beginning to despair when you appeared. They hadn’t told me what they wanted with me before your arrival. They simply hurt me.” 

Sharmon veered towards the left and Thorin tightened his hold on the reins. 

“Then you appear, large as bloody-life and furious.” He laughed but it was oddly choked. Thorin burned to turn his head and look at the hobbit. He wanted to offer comfort but didn’t know how. He had never been soft-handed or particularly kind. He was stern and demanding, a warrior before anything else.

Bilbo was a hobbit. Not soft by any means, but used to comfort and growing things. They lived in peace and did not deal with ugly things such as war and hate.

He could offer no more comfort than a listening ear.

“Furious is putting it mildly.”

“It really is. You were an utter curiosity. I couldn’t understand why they would need a prince and someone with magic. Then they told me what they wanted in the next torture session.” He shrugged and held on tighter as Sharmon jumped over a fallen limb. He was stronger than he looked, and made no cry even though his ribs were assuredly pounding from the jarring motion. “The rest you know.”

“Why did you not tell me their plans?”

“Because you weren’t exactly sociable.” There was a hint of a laugh in the word, and it no longer sounded so broken. It curled under Thorin’s heart, painful and insistent. He ignored it and focused on the path before them.

Another blast of the horn echoed faintly in the distance. Their attackers were heading in a different direction. They could head towards Mirkwood soon. It would be two weeks worth of riding before they reached Celduin, and then another week before they made it to Erebor. He could call on aid when they made it to Celduin. Lord Bard was a strong ally, and he had men posted along the river.

They had to avoid capture for two weeks.

-[]-[]-[]-

Camp was made on the border of Mirkwood that night. Sharmon was content to munch on the grass at the root of the trees while they set up the rudimentary camp they would keep while they slept. They had ridden through the entirety of the day, and most of the night so that dawn was hinting at the sky once more. It would be better to ride at night, as they would have less chance of being seen. They would hide themselves during the day, and take watches while they slept. 

They set their bed rolls up under a thick bush that blocked them well enough from others sight.

There was enough food left from their brief stop that there was no need to forage or hunt. The extra blanket would provide additional warmth, so they would not need to start a fire either. 

He took the first watch as he had spent countless days without sleep in his long life. Bilbo had fought desperately to stay awake while they rode. He couldn’t risk the hobbit slipping into sleep while on watch.

He chose a spot concealed by the plant from which he could listen and observe their meager camp. It also allowed him to see the stars.

He had missed their beauty in his long capture. He longed for his home and the way their light would illuminate her long halls. He had traveled across the entirety of Middle Earth, but he found no place so lovely as his mountain. There was a certain spot he would show Bilbo when they finally reached her. It was a balcony that overlooked the city of Dale and the land between the two kingdoms. A hidden place that only the family of Durin, and those closest to them, knew of. It was bathed in starlight and caught the fresh breeze as it billowed in from the mountain. The gates of the city could be seen beneath, sparkling like emeralds in the light of the night. The world seemed to stretch endlessly before him from her heights. Full of adventure and promise if he but wished to find it.

Bilbo hummed in his sleep and rolled over, poking the tip of his foot out from under his blanket and the plant. Thorin considered the foot for a moment, a painful fondness welling up from the depths of his chest. 

The hobbit had sought adventure and wound up with far more than he had asked for. Thorin had not sought adventure and wound up with something he could not have.

He tucked the foot back under the blanket and bush and turned his eyes to the stars. If he kept his eyes on her guiding light, he was certain he could find a way that did not end in heartbreak.


	8. Chapter 8

They carried along easily enough for a while. The nights were dark and their pony was comfortable around the trees of Mirkwood. He followed Thorin’s lead without hesitation and had no fear of the darkness.

The awkwardness Thorin felt whenever he and Bilbo grew quiet worsened with every passing night. He struggled with things to talk about that did not involve learning more about the hobbit. He found that the more he learned about Bilbo, the more he fell for the hobbit. The fear was only on his end as Bilbo continue to chat and laugh at perfect ease. 

He wanted to taste the laughter. To feel Bilbo against every inch of his skin, to hear his love-cries. He wanted to know the hobbit’s thoughts and to talk with him about the runnings of Erebor. The hobbit had been bold enough to follow him to Erebor, and now Thorin was foolish enough to fall in love with him. 

He could tell Bilbo of his regard, and in the dark when the stars burned overhead and the woods stretched endlessly before them, it seemed like the only possibility. The hobbit would not judge him for his care-of that he was certain-and he might even return it.

But the hobbit longed for his home. For his armchair, his books, his warm fire. He longed for the comforts he had left, and Thorin could not offer him anything that would keep him from that. 

So he kept his tongue quiet and urged Sharmon to hurry. 

There were signs at the end of the first week of another rider having walked near to their camp. He saw no such rider, and no one had disturbed either of their watches, but it worried him none the less. They risked no fire after that.

Finally they found Cereduin. He rode hastily along her until he came to Esgaroth. She had long been an ally of Dale and a friend of Erebor. They could seek lodging behind her walls for the night.

“Hail Master of Esgaroth.” He bowed his head while Bilbo bowed stiffly at the waist. The Master of Lake Town was as ugly as ever, and had lost more hair since he’d seen him last. His beady eyes were locked on Thorin with a hint of disbelief and obvious distaste. 

“Hail Prince Thorin. And...erm… companion. How can we aid you?”

“We should like a room for the night, and lodgings for our steed.” He stood tall and straight with his body blocking most of Bilbo from the Master’s view. His guards could see him well enough, but not all of them were so loyal to the Master. Erebor was endlessly rich, and that bought many loyalties. 

“Quite right. Alfred!” The greasy haired assistant shuffled forward and smirked as he always did. Thorin ignored his presence diplomatically and turned his attention to Bilbo. The hobbit was standing close and managed to look politely interested in whatever was being said. He caught Thorin’s silent gaze and smiled genuinely at him. He ignored the way it made him want to do the same and turned his focus back on the Master. Alfred stepped forward to lead them to their lodging and he followed. He had to push away his disgust of the human for a while longer.

Erebor was another two days from here. They had nearly made it back to her gates. He had not truly thought they could make it this far unseen. 

When he did reach her gates, it would be days before he found a moments rest. There would be endless meetings, countless councils, and hunts to find his captors. He would hardly see Bilbo as well.

The room was the same he was usually given. It was spacious enough, with a table and fireplace as well as a bed and bathroom. He had shared it with another dwarrow on more than one occasion. Usually Dwalin. They had spent many a night going over travel plans on that table.

He still lamented his choices. He should have asked for two rooms.

“This is cozy.” Bilbo murmured when Alfred left them with one last lecherous smirk. 

Thorin nodded his head and dropped their bundle of belongings onto the bed. There was a dinner set out on the table already, and it made his stomach rumble to see. Bilbo headed straight for it and that made him smile. 

“We’re two days from Erebor, right?”

“Right. We will sleep in Dale tomorrow night. Lord Bard will alert my father to our arrival. He will send a guard to accompany us to the mountain.”

“Then it will be a few days until I see you again?” Bilbo toyed with a piece of bread as he spoke. His thin fingers ran over the crust distractingly in a manner that made Thorin want to grab his hand and calm the nervous digits. He went to the table instead and took a bundle of grapes. 

“I suspect.” He bit into one of the green grapes, savoring the burst of juice that filled his mouth. He had not had proper food in far too long. There would be a feast issued for his return to the mountain… Roasted meats and fresh breads would be served. There would be entire blocks of cheese and his favorite smoked ham... He could almost taste Bombur’s food. Even thinking about it made his mouth water. 

Bilbo tore off a small piece of bread but didn’t eat it. He simply fiddled with it until it was nothing more than crumbs. 

“It’ll be strange, don’t you think?” He wasn’t quite meeting Thorin’s eyes. The air felt more heavy than it ever had before and Thorin found himself aware of just how much he did not want to bid Bilbo any sort of goodbye. He had grown quite accustomed to the hobbit’s happy rambling and curiosity. The world would feel far too quiet without him. 

“To be in Erebor again?” He carefully plucked another grape and focused on chewing it and enjoying the flavor. 

“To not see each other.”

It would not be strange. He suspected it would be painful, at least on his part. He was fairly certain he had fallen in love with the hobbit at some point during their captivity, though he had not realized it for what it was until the forest. He knew it would physically pain him not to see Bilbo. He would need the time to grow accustomed to the hobbit’s absence though. Bilbo would be leaving for a long time-likely forever-in a few weeks. When he left Erebor, he would have precious little reason to ever return. There could be letters written, but they would not be what his soul would crave.

His sister would be furious with him. She had lamented that he would never find anyone, and now he found one he could not keep. What’s worse, it was someone that could be placed in immense danger very easily.

“I mean,” Bilbo continued, demolishing another piece of bread, “I’m certainly going to miss you. You probably won’t have a moment to breath. You’ll get to see your family again as well.”

Bilbo was upset at the idea of separation?

“Yes. Dis, Fili, Kili, my father… I should like to introduce them to you. My nephews have never met a hobbit, and you will hold a place of honor in our halls.”

His brow scrunched up. “A place of honor? Why?”

“You have saved my life at risk to your own. You are much valued to me. You will forever have a place in Erebor, should you ever wish to stay.” 

“How far is it from the Shire?”

“Two months travel.” Roughly. The trip could be completed more quickly with a good horse and skilled rider. It could take longer if one did not know the way or had bad luck.

Bilbo nodded his head thoughtfully and put the bread back down. He opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something before clicking it shut and swallowing. His fingers dropped to his side and fidgeted as they were want to do when Bilbo was nervous. 

He burned with the urge to take them in his hand and sooth them. He hadn’t meant to upset the hobbit. Quite the opposite actually. Why was the hobbit upset?

“I will have ravens sent to all corners of Middle Earth to call for Gandalf. You will be welcome in our halls until he comes. If you would like to leave earlier than that, I will dispense you a formal guard.”

“I can wait. I’m not in a hurry.” Bilbo swallowed again and grimaced. His hands clenched around nothing before the left one rose and fiddled with the end of his braid. Thorin had re-wove it just that morning. “I-I don’t suppose your father would mind if I popped in every once and a while?” He bit his lip then smiled and it was beautiful and sad and Thorin could feel his heart faltering at the simple sight of it.

He could take it no more, and he acted before he could fully form even a thought. 

He caught Bilbo’s head with a hand on his jaw, under his silken curls and tugged him closer. His lips smashed against Bilbo’s too roughly, and the hobbit was utterly frozen against him but he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t stop now. Not until Bilbo knew Thorin’s heart. He cupped Bilbo’s other cheek and the hobbit relaxed against him, going utterly lax in his hands for a long moment. Then the hobbit’s lips pressed against his in short, intense kisses that managed to rob his lungs of all air until he had fisted Bilbo’s hair in his hands and wished to never let go and there was pain somewhere in the back of his head because Bilbo had his braids and was pulling but. he. did. not. care.

He had lost his heart to Bilbo and there were going to be horrible complications because of that, but he would not go a step further without knowing how it felt to kiss the hobbit. Bilbo was returning the kiss with fervor, and he could not, and would not be sorry for acting.

The hobbit grabbed both of his shoulders and hauled him down lower. It was uncomfortable, and there were better ways to deal with their height differences. He dropped his own hands to Bilbo’s hips and lifted him up easily. The hobbit didn’t weigh a lot, not by dwarrow standards, and the captivity had cost him a fair bit of hobbit-fat. 

Bilbo’s legs wound around his waist easily enough and he simply stood there for several long minutes.

When air became a demanding issue he tore himself away from Bilbo’s mouth and pressed his forehead to the hobbit’s. Bilbo held him tighter, his fingers digging into Thorin’s shoulders in a manner that would have been painful if he was not a dwarf. 

“I didn’t think-”

“I was not going to allow myself such a thing.” Bilbo’s eyes slipped open in surprise. They were darker around the edges, a visible sign of his desire. It made Thorin’s throat feel dryer to see.

“Why?” He shook his head before Thorin continued. “I can’t believe you never said anything! How long have you cared?”

“A long while.”

Bilbo’s eyes widened and his mouth popped open in shock. One hand released his shoulder to hit him across the chest with a painless blow. “You dangerous fool! They could have-if we hadn’t-you would have let-”

He cut the rambling off with a quick kiss. “That is why we had to escape and avoid capture. They had no idea how close their plans came to fruition.” He would have, and still would, do much to ensure Bilbo’s safety. If they hadn’t escaped when they did… If he had realized in the darkness of their cells that Bilbo had his heart… He would have given away the Arkenstone itself to get the hobbit away from danger. Sending Bilbo away from Erebor would not change that, but it would make it less likely that anyone would try such a thing again. If Bilbo was not near him no one would have reason to suspect the value he held to Thorin. His life would be far less dangerous. It would presumably be danger free. Thorin doubted Gandalf would let the hobbit go on any adventure once he discovered what had befallen the burglar.

He was simply uncertain he would actually be able to let Bilbo go now. He couldn’t even loosen his hold. His arms would not move no matter how hard he tried.

Bilbo clung to him all the tighter and pressed his face to Thorin’s chest. “I thought I was alone in this.” He shook his head, pressing closer to Thorin’s pounding heart. 

“In this regard? No. You are not alone, Bilbo Baggins.”

“Gandalf is going to kill me.” He huffed the words out, nearly laughing. “I was supposed to stay in my hobbit hole. Instead I went out on an adventure, got myself kidnapped, and fell in love with a dwarf prince.”

His heart would surely burst from the softly spoken words. It felt as if it was being squeezed beyond endurance, or as if it was growing far too large for his chest to contain. “And won the love of that dwarf prince.”

“I have?”

He chose to respond with another kiss. He was allowed to do so now, apparently. 

They needed to reach Erebor. Once he was safe behind her walls he could finally relax. When they were together and surrounded by loyal dwarrows he could focus his attentions on finding those who would harm Bilbo. Gandalf could be sent for and Bilbo could truly be safe. He could request a day from his father. A single day to rest. They could work out what this was and how they could handle it then.

Bilbo kissed as he did everything. With joy and abandon and curiosity and a sweetness that made everything hazy. He was somehow polite and demanding and utterly determined to learn everything about Thorin that could possibly be learned through his mouth. Thorin was taking stock as well, and memorizing all that he learned. Bilbo’s skin was soft under his fingertips, the apple of his cheeks were warm from a flush. His hair was in need of a wash but still held a hint of silkiness he craved to feel more of. His legs were tight around Thorin’s waist and his hands could not decide what they wanted on Thorin’s shoulder. They squeezed him, rubbed up and down his neck, flexed, and pulled at different moments.

After an age of learning how Bilbo tasted he released the hobbit. He set him down on one of the chairs and took the seat by his side. The meal was eaten between long looks and smiles he seemed unable to control. 

The final leg of their journey was going to be difficult. It should be danger free-but he would be far less likely now to notice if there was something amiss. Even now, simply eating was difficult to concentrate on. Food had far less appeal when he could be feasting on a hobbit.

** He would allow himself nothing more until they reached Erebor. Only then could he truly drop his guard. **


	9. Chapter 9

He had not counted on the fact that they had a single bed.

He climbed on it first and waited with his back pressed to the wall while Bilbo joined him. His stomach was fluttering with nerves and tight with desire while Bilbo put his belt away and took off his jacket. The hobbit climbed up beside him and Thorin kept his gaze straight ahead. He could not allow himself to get lost in the hobbit’s gaze or there would be no control to be had. Desire was already a burning under his skin. A hot longing that itched to lay Bilbo out and press over him. To cover him entirely and learn all that he could about the hobbit.

To even be covered until all he could see were green eyes and shining curls. To feel Bilbo as he would feel no other. To know all of him. To kiss and caress and stroke the soft skin. To taste his laughter and the sound of his desire.

He burned with want of it all.

Bilbo’s hand settled on his arm. The thin fingers felt long against him, and entirely distracting. The tip of the fingers on his other hand brushed against Thorin’s neck and sent a surprisingly intense wave of longing through his body. “Can I lay against you? Like we did in the tree?”

Thorin’s eyes slipped close with the memory of that night and he gave his head a slow nod. He scooted down on the bed and reclined against the pillows. Bilbo’s hand stayed on his neck, and the fingers continued to caress him in an almost absent fashion. His eyes opened in time to see Bilbo crawling further down the bed and pushing the blanket to the side. He shuffled underneath the sheet and laid down next to Thorin, stretched and appealing. His heart rate spiked in his chest as he caught a glimpse of the hobbit’s form beside his, and then Bilbo rolled over. 

The hobbit wiggled backward until his back was pressed against Thorin’s chest, and it was the most natural thing in the world to drape his arm over Bilbo’s stomach. 

“Thank you.” He pressed a kiss to the soft skin of Bilbo’s neck and let his nose brush against the soft curls on the hobbit’s head. The burglar was warm everywhere they were pressed together, soft and sturdy, and utterly welcoming to his touch. He had to wait two days. Just two more days until they reached the mountain. 

“You owe me no thanks, Bilbo.” He spread the fingers of his hand over Bilbo’s stomach, sliding the hand up until he could feel the steady rise and fall of the hobbit’s breathing. Bilbo’s hand settled on top of his and threaded their fingers together. 

He laid awake long into the night. Until the fire had died out and only starlight lit the room. He studied Bilbo’s nearly silent form as the hobbit dozed, and thought long about what their future would hold.

He did not like to think about it, and had done a fairly decent job of avoiding the topic, but it seemed very likely he had been betrayed by someone near to his heart. They had traveled by an unknown road through Mirkwood. Thranduil had given them leave to travel his lands, and he had dispatched his own son to lead them through it. It was not the sort of path that just anyone could happen upon. 

Only the dwarrows who had traveled with him knew their location. The elves as well, but they would not have waited until they were freed of the forest to attack. They would have separated him from the others and taken him there. 

The cost of betrayal had been high. The men had left none alive, not even a turncoat. 

Bilbo twisted in his sleep until his cheek was pressed against Thorin’s chest and he had both hands on the dwarf’s arm. Tenderness welled in his chest at the action and he had to swallow thickly to keep from reacting. 

He could not be grateful for the abduction-he had seen far too many friends murdered for such a thing, but he could not help but feel grateful that the fates had seen fit to show him one who could hold his heart. 

He stayed awake a while longer and studied the way starlight made Bilbo’s skin glow. 

-[]-[]-[]-

He awoke positively burning with want. He had no memory of his dreams. Just a lingering feeling of warmth, contentment, and laughter. Bilbo had twisted around in the night until he was sprawled on Thorin’s chest. It seemed to be a nightly ritual of the hobbit.

He lay still for a while, simply feeling as he tried to control his passion. A glance out the window revealed that dawn had nearly risen and that they would do well to be on their way. The Master would be up in an hour or so, and he would try to detain Thorin at that time. If they left before he could, they would have a much better time of it.

He tried to free himself from Bilbo’s arms, only to wake the hobbit. He felt the burglar go stiff, and then lax once more. A warm nose brushed against his throat and Bilbo pushed himself up, and over Thorin. He smiled down at him and Thorin’s breath caught in his throat. 

He found himself reaching up to touch, very nearly in a daze. He traced the contours of Bilbo’s face and felt the hobbit settle more firmly on top of him. His weight wasn’t oppressive at all and it made him smile to see his hobbit look so sleep warm and happy. 

Bilbo’s head dropped down until he was pressing a kiss to Thorin’s lip that was as sweet as wine and as thick as honey. The hobbit’s toes curled against his legs and his fingers tangled in Thorin’s hair and around his tunic.

Then Bilbo was climbing off of him. He stretched, yawned, and wandered into the bathroom without a single word.

Thorin watched him go and tried to ignore the ache in his chest and how cold the room suddenly felt without Bilbo’s bright presence.

He climbed out of the bed, annoyed at himself for wasting time they did not have, and gathered their items together. He bound them with the blanket and set about righting his clothes. They had been mussed with sleep and wrinkled from Bilbo’s greeting.

“Do we have the time for you to re-braid my hair?”

He stalled in fastening his belt as a flash of heat shot down his spine. Bilbo strolled towards him with a shy smile that made something tender in his chest throb. 

“Of course, Ulnas.” The khuzdul flowed easily and he could not take the time to lament it’s use. Bilbo flushed at the endearment and walked around until he was standing in front of Thorin. He easily freed the hair of the braid and sectioned it out in seven strands. He had not yet asked for a courtship, but he did not think Bilbo would mind him giving him such a braid. 

It would also stop them from being separated. The dwarrows that would come to escort them to Erebor would recognize it for what it was and allow them to ride together. They would if he asked, of course, but it would be unspoken now and not alarm Bilbo. 

Once the braid was completed he took a moment to study the way it hung in Bilbo’s hair. It suited the hobbit’s face well, and kept the loose strands of hair away from his bright eyes.

The hobbit’s hand trailed up to feel it while he watched, and a small smile quirked his lips up. “A new style?”

He simply nodded. He would have gladly taken the time to explain his actions, and to share a kiss or two, but there was simply no time to be had. They really had to go now or waste the entire day.

“One that suits you.” Bilbo’s grin was a heady thing, and he lost a little bit of time between seeing it and dispersing their packs. He gave himself a firm shakedown and led Bilbo from their room quietly. The guard that had been posted to their door had fallen asleep at some point in the night and took no notice of their exit. He had stood watch by Thorin’s door every time he’d been in the city, and he usually enjoyed a chat with the man.

It was easy enough to slip past the snoozing guard and down the rest of the hall. There was one other sentry posted, but he was more interested in watching a pair of young ladies fishing than tending to his duties.

Bilbo stayed quiet at his side. He walked with enviable silence and grace that seemed odd in the small creature. One would not think hobbits given to stealth to look at them. 

Once they reached the stable he kept watch by the door while Bilbo snuck into fetch Sharmon.

The pony was strangely subdued. He kept his head low and barely made any reaction to seeing Thorin or the apple he brought.

“I don’t know what’s wrong.” Bilbo’s eyes were narrowed with worry as he scanned the quiet pony. “He had food, water, and a blanket. He was taken care of last night. I could understand a bit of second hand wariness being picked up from us, but he’s acting ill.”

“We will take it easy today. It is not far to Dale.” They would simply load their packs onto the animal and walk along side him. They would not reach Erebor quite so quickly, but it would be manageable. 

There were no guards posted at the city gate. It was disquieting, and a strange suspicion ran along his body. 

Something was very much not right. 

Sharmon grew slower the further they went, and started to sway as they exited the city. He trudged along but it was only Thorin’s insistent tugging that had him moving through the water at all. 

They would have to leave the pony at Dale. King Bard would see him well tended, and they would have no further need for the loyal steed. Once he was healed Thorin would send for him.

They were well into the barren land between the city of Dale and Esgaroth when Sharmon collapsed with a mere whisper of a cry and Bilbo nearly shrieked. Thorin’s chest was turning far too much to be truly devastated at the pony’s pain.

The guard at his door could not have simply fallen asleep, he’d been drugged. That could be the only reason when the other facts were considered. The only guard he liked had been drugged, and their pony had been drugged or poisoned. There were guards missing from their typical outlooks, possibly so that they could deny knowing anything about whatever was about to occur.

They were in the middle of the open field between Esgaroth and Dale. There was no cover to be found, and miles before they reached the protected city.

Had the Master himself betrayed them? How much was the coward promised?

Thorin turned as he thought, his trained eyes scanning the ground around them in search for anything unusual.

There were men crossing the river. Men he’d seen at Dol-Guldur. He could recognize the man in black leather even from this distance. They’d already made it halfway across, and were already shouting about them. 

Bilbo noticed them as he did and made a pained and startled noise that reverberated deep in Thorin’s chest. It made a wild panic spread over his skin like fire on a dry field.

There was but one way forward. They had no pony, and no hope of out running the men. If they were captured, all would be lost. 

There were three options.

They stood still and fought the men. There looked to be at least twenty, and Bilbo was not overly skilled with a blade. He did not like their odds in such a situation. They would try and preserve his life, but Bilbo’s would be worth very little to them, unless he attempted to protect him. Thorin would interfere at risk to himself to save Bilbo, and they would know their ‘spell’ had worked. They would use Bilbo viciously to make him do their will. He did not care to find out if he would succumb to their will.

He could not risk Bilbo coming under their control. He would likely lose all control of himself and do something utterly unthinkable. There plan would be useless now as his heart was taken. They could find as many wizards as they wished, he would not be bewitched. They would have to use Bilbo, and we would be murdered upon Thorin’s completion of their gold. 

They could run, and die in the attempt. They would not be able to outrun the men. 

Bilbo could take his ring and run to Erebor. The dwarrows there would aid him and send help back to Thorin. Thorin could take the ring, of course, but he would still have the problem of Bilbo being murdered.

He reached to the back of his head with oddly numb fingers. He had to fumble for a moment to free the thick bead from his hair. It got caught to several strands and he had to pull to remove them. It did not hurt nearly as much as it should have. 

The numbness was apparently not only in his fingers.

“Take this.” He pressed the bead into Bilbo’s hand and followed it with a press of his lips against the hobbit’s lips. This should have far more ceremony-and not only because he was heir to the throne and essentially choosing the future consort-but because it was one of the most sacred acts of his people. 

Curse the men who chased them! He prayed they found their way to Mandos’ halls to torment for eternity.  

“Go to my father. He will know what the meaning of this is. Tell him everything that has passed.”

Bilbo dropped his gaze to the golden bead and stared at it wildly. His lips were parted for breath and Thorin wished there was time to kiss him once more. “I-I can’t. This is your betrothal bead.” The green eyes shot back up to meet his, dark and pleading. Bilbo’s fingers trembled in his hand. The shouts of the riders were growing louder. They would be discovered in mere moments. 

“I know, Ghivashel. Show it to my father.”

“No!” He nearly shrieked the word, panic making his gaze wild. His fingers latched onto Thorin’s wrist and held on like a limpet. “I’m not leaving you. We-we’ll fight them.”

He shook his head and pried Bilbo’s hand from his wrist. “No. They will not kill me. They need me. It is you they will kill. Use your ring. Go now.”

“But  I can’t take this. It goes to-”

“It will go to no other.” He ignored the warning of his heart and pulled Bilbo into a fierce kiss that was more teeth than anything else. He could feel blood against his lips and didn’t know who it belonged to. When he pulled away Bilbo looked even more wild and distraught. “Go. Go now and do not look back. I will hold them off until you are free.” He took a step back and glanced at the river. They were riding swiftly. They would be on him in less than two minutes. Sharmon would have been over run even if he wasn’t unconscious. “Do not stop until you reach my city. Look for the guard Dwalin, Gloin, or Bifur.” He pulled the bow from his shoulder and took an arrow as well. 

Bilbo nodded his head and slipped his hand into his pocket. He stared at Thorin for one long, wonderful moment, and then he was gone. Invisible fingers brushed against his arm and then there was nothing but the crunch of grass as Bilbo ran off.

Thorin straightened and broadened his stance. He brought the bow up and cocked an arrow against it. He had only used it twice to bring down an animal for their meals, but it was well made. He took aim and, after he exhaled, he released an arrow. It sore through the air and found its mark on one of the nearest rider’s throat. A bellow of outrage sounded from the riders and he readied another arrow.

He had to delay them long enough for Bilbo.


	10. Chapter 10

There was  nothing so frightening as an angry wizard. Nothing. Thranduil had lived countless lifetimes, and seen countless enemies, but wizards were something entirely different. He had once seen Saruman defeat a lesser wraith of Saruon’s with raging fire, and it had been terrifying. It had sent a cold dread through his body when the wizard had turned his pale eyes on Thranduil for nothing more than a second.

Saruman hadn’t even been interested in him. He’d just glanced as he sought out another enemy. 

Gandalf had the entirety of his focus narrowed on Thranduil, and he was nearly vibrating with repressed rage. The wizard’s staff was thrumming with enough energy that Thranduil could feel the spark of it in the air. His sword was crackling with white light, and Thranduil was not in the least certain that they would not be used on him. His skin was crawling with fright, and he felt shivery as if he was suffering the worst of fevers. He nearly swayed where he stood.

It was the most humbling thing the elf had ever felt. Before him was true power, and he could not fight it.

“I have seen no halfling in my land, Mithrandir.” And at the moment he would pay a high price to find one. The halfling Gandalf adored… Bilbo was it? Would be worth his very weight in gems if it would rid Thranduil’s kingdom of the incensed wizard. 

The wizard who stepped closer with a glower that turned Thranduil’s stomach.

And that in and of itself was infuriating. He was a king, he would not stand for being intimidated in his own kingdom! 

“He was spotted near this very forest.” Gandalf’s voice thundered with power, making the torches near the throne flash all the brighter. He pointedly did not squirm in his chair, regardless of how much warmer Gandalf had made it.

“It was not by my leave, or with my knowledge.” He paused and decided to throw caution to the wind. “Would you hold me responsible for the one you took into your care?”

“For any damage that has occurred to him while on your lands. I will hold you responsible, and if needed? Punishable.”

That was horrifying.

He stood up swiftly and took one step down from his throne. He allowed his eyes to widen and tipped his chin up in a display of majesty. He had spent lifetimes perfecting his stance. He too knew how to intimidate. “What madness is this, Mithrandir? Long have we been allies. Do not throw such allegiances away because ill-fortune seems to have befallen your ward.”

“My cherished friend, and the nearest I have to a son. It is not I who am throwing away allegiances. Three times I have come to you for aid in searching for my hobbit. Three times you have denied it. I will not be ignored any longer.” His staff thumped against the ground and the entirety of the hall groaned as if it was under a terrible weight. Gandalf felt far too large for the space he was occupying, and it felt as if the air itself was crying out in fear. 

Then just as suddenly as it started, Gandalf stood before him as nothing more than a mere man again. And he was anything but. “Even now I will forgive the evil you have wrought. Lend me aid and all will be forgotten.” But apparently not forgiven.

“What aid would you have of me?” 

“Send out your scouts to search the forest.” He waved a hand and Legolas dipped his head. His son slipped from the hall without another word and went to call the requested elves. He turned his attention back to the wizard and felt a strange stirring of sympathy. There was no war he would not wage to protect his own child. 

“When was he lost?” Gandalf seemed to shrink and leaned heavily upon his staff.

“Nearly three months ago. He was in Esgaroth without my leave. He was headed towards Rohan. King Thengel wished to give him a large feast in his honor, but he did not arrive. His companions were found unconscious. The King has searched his land but no trace of Bilbo could be found.” The wizard gave his grey head a tired shake. “It was by his aid that I learned he had been spotted near Mirkwood with several men in dark clothing.”

Three months… That was an eternity to have lost a son. Even to elves who lived outside of times true influence. The only reason to capture the hobbit would be to get to Gandalf. He was well loved by all who knew him, and it was widely known that he was cherished by the wizard. If he had not yet been given any demands for the little one’s return… It did not bode well for him.

“Sire!” A thin, auburn-haired elf ran into the throne room and bowed low. He was dressed as a messenger, though Thranduil did not remember if he had met him before.

“Yes?” Gandalf moved to the side to allow him through, and his power was thrumming in the air again. He clearly did not care for interruptions. 

“King Thrain has sent word to us.”

Mother of an Orc. 

“And?” The idiotic heir to the throne had gotten lost on the road to Esgaroth. Well outside of Thranduil’s kingdom, but he was being plagued by the dwarves nonetheless. They were the ones that had not taken proper precautions to protect the spoiled princeling.

“He demands a response.”

Thranduil had sent dozens of responses. He had seen Thorin on his travels and made certain that he was well cared for while in Mirkwood. His own son had led the dwarf and his dwarves through the forest. They had parted and that was the end of it.

Once again, it was not Thranduil’s fault or responsibility. What care should he have for the running of other kingdoms? They had nothing to do with his people. 

“What has happened?” Gandalf demanded. The messenger shook and Thranduil resumed his seat. He had no reason to answer Mithrandir. This was his kingdom. He could run it as he chose. “Well?” Gandalf barked, and the elf  _ jumped. _ It was disgraceful. The air wasn’t even crackling now.

“Prince Thorin has disappeared.” Thranduil narrowed his eyes in menace at the blabbering elf, but there was no point. His servant was not now looking at him. “Over two months ago.”

It was surprising Mithrandir had not heard of his absence. He had been truly absorbed in finding his charge.

“Where?”

“Outside of my realm.” He stood again and made to descend the stairs. Gandalf thrust his staff forward and Thranduil could not move forward. He was not certain if there was barrier in his way, if Gandalf had stopped his body, or took control of his mind.

“The Prince of Erebor has gone missing as well?”

“His guard was found dead but his body was not among theirs. A trader claimed to have seen a caravan of men head towards our woods with a bundle that might have been a dwarf.”

“Still your tongue!” He snapped the words out, enraged as he had not been in centuries. The elf gave him a look that clearly stated he did not find Thranduil nearly so fearsome as Gandalf. He needed to get rid of the wizard. He would not be undermined in his own kingdom! These were his lands and his people. They were _his_ to command, _his_ to lead.

“To what is the King of Erebor demanding an answer?”

“He has already been given an answer. It was ‘no.’”

Gandalf ignored him. He sank back on his throne in fury. 

“He has asked that his dwarves be allowed to search the woods.”

Gandalf turned a heavy gaze on Thranduil. “And you have denied him this?”

“We have searched the land! The princeling is not here! I will not allow dwarves to plunder my forest!”

“You would invite war instead?”

“Thrain will not wage war against me. He cannot afford to be without the food we provide.”

“Sire?” The hall grew utterly quiet as Thranduil’s eyes darted down to the cowering elf. The air crackled with subdued breath. “He has threatened just that.”

-[]-[]-[]-

Dis, Fili, and Kili were alarming when angry by themselves. When Dwalin, Balin, Gloin, and Bifur were thrown in with them, they were given a respectable distance and allowed to do whatever they wished. Thrain and Thorin were the only two who dared try to stop them. 

The letter, crumpled and nearly shredded from shock, in his hands had sent his family into frantic anger that was nearly a berserker rage. Bifur’s cousins had had to be sent for to calm the warrior. 

His son was missing. His firstborn, the one who had been with him longest… He had been present for the dwarf’s birth, as was the custom of his people. He had seen Freris struggle to bring him into this world, and shared in her tears of joy when they finally held the heir. 

He had been the most beautiful thing Thrain had ever beheld. No other jewel had ever come near to the splendor that Thorin held in Thrain’s eyes. Even Freris’ beauty had dimmed at the wonder and joy of holding his son.

And now that son, the song of his life and joy, was  _ stolen .  _

The guard had perished. Every single dwarrow that had accompanied the heir of Erebor had been slaughtered. Dwalin and Gloin had keened at that news, and they had all taken a moment to mourn the loss of so many loyal souls. They had fought to the death to defend their charge, and would be buried with all honors.

But Thorin was captured. They knew not by who, or why he had been. The letter said only:

_ We have him. _

A lock of Thorin’s hair and Freris’ ring, the one possession of hers that Thorin always had, was enclosed. 

He had seen red, and nearly lost himself to the damâmukhzar. The blood rage had burned through his body, but he had fought it until he could breath again. When the traitor who had taken his son was before him, then he would let the blood-lust take over.

He had searched.  _ Oh _ , had he searched. The lands between his kingdom and Ered Luin had been scoured for any sign of his beloved son. Any hint of a dwarf that might have been Thorin. 

Hope had not been found, nor had his son. 

His other child, his golden haired daughter, had stepped up to fill Thorin’s place in the running of the kingdom. She had demanded her brother’s role and made certain that no questions were asked about Thorin’s absence. She had stonewalled every inquiry. 

The kingdom was well taken care of, and would be if the worse happened. Fili and Dis were capable and would do their duty to the crown of Erebor. Thrain would spend his every breath before his death searching for his son though.

“Has there been any reply yet?” The hall was quiet behind him, and the stone was cold beneath his hand. He could see all of Erebor from his position on her battlement, but he could not see his son. 

“None since the last, my lord.” The words were quiet, as if Nori did not truly wish to speak them. They cracked Thrain’s heart, and he had not thought it could crack anymore.

How many cracks could a heart hold before it shattered?

“It’s been two months, sire. If you would but let me, I could send a few spi-”

“You could start a war. I cannot allow it. Not until I know they will offer us no aid. There is more at stake than my son. Still, war or not, I will not continue with this insult much longer.”

He turned from the view to find his family and Thorin’s friends behind him. Dis was ragged from lack of sleep, and Fili looked to have lost weight. Kili had dark circles under his eyes, from a need for rest or stress, he was not certain. The two young princes had searched the land without permission, and had been ceaseless in their efforts to find their loved uncle. 

He burned with the urge to make the captors suffer.

“The Brown Lands have sent no further news.” Dwalin stated darkly. Balin started and turned to him. 

“The dwarf and hobbit? You think Thorin was the dwarf?”

“That is the closest we have come to a lead.” Thrain declared. He brushed his hand against Dis’ arm in silent comfort, all he could offer. Fili stepped closer and looked curiously at Balin.

“But Thengel has been searching everywhere for a hobbit. A ward of Gandalf’s.” Balin spoke the words quickly, and they fell on top of each other so he had to take a long moment to separate them. 

“Bilbo Baggins?” Nori inquired with a tilt of his head. Balin raised a surprised eyebrow and nodded his head. Nori gave a low whistle and met Thrain’s gaze. “That’s bad. Really bad. If they’re together, well… What reason could they want them both?”

“Why would Thorin be traveling with him?” Dwalin cut in. 

“Is the hobbit magical?” Kili asked. Nori shook his head. “Then why is he with Gandalf?”

“I don’t know. But he’s powerless.”

“No, but this is important.” Balin said with an impatient wave of his hand. He stepped towards Thrain, singularly focused on whatever it was he knew. “Thengel has been searching the borders of  _ Mirkwood . _ ” 

The rushed words washed over Thrain with all the force of a hammer’s blow. He let out a long breath and felt his heart rabbit in his chest. Two…

Two had been lost in Mirkwood? Two different people, both very connected to power, and they had been spotted in the woods. Had Gandalf too been refused access to the woods? Had Thranduil known of the hobbit’s disappearance? Or worse, did he know more than he told? 

If that was the case, then Erebor would ride to war. He would send word to Dale this very evening to prepare themselves for an entourage of dwarrows. He would have Balin write Dain. The Iron Hills would need to prepare themselves for battle. 

He would retrieve his son.

-[]-[]-[]-

It was a lot further to Dale than it had ever looked. Bilbo’s heart had felt as if it would burst as he ran away from Thorin and towards the city.

It had felt like he was abandoning the dwarf he had only just confessed to love. Thorin had stuck by his side through everything, even when there was no reason to do so. He had tended to his ribs in their prison, and sought to distract him from nightmares. He had aided in escaping, and carried him across the vast clearing to the woods. He had escorted him through Mirkwood and tended to him with a startling amount of care.

He could have simply left Bilbo in Mirkwood once they’d escaped but he hadn’t.

And Bilbo had fallen (madly and against proper judgement) in love with the dwarf. 

Now he was  _ abandoning _ him to the very men that had tried to enchant him. 

The bead was burning his palm. It was immensely heavy and full of breath-taking promise and damn-it-all if he was not going to have Thorin put it on him in proper dwarf fashion. He made it exactly ten steps before he stopped and clasped the bead at the end of the braid Thorin had given him that morning. Then, he ran.

He ran with a speed he had never known he possessed, immensely grateful for the fact that his ribs were mostly healed. He pushed all other thoughts out of his head and focused only on moving over the land. He ignored the shouts he heard behind himself. He ignored the way the ground seemed to rumble with the stomps of horse hoofs.

He ignored the panic in his gut that told him he’d find Thorin dead if he looked over his shoulder. 

He was the only hope now. Thorin had rescued him countless times, it was Bilbo’s time to do the same. 

The land between the two towns was flat and nearly desolate. There was no real sign of activity outside of the well worn road. Still, he ran on, ignoring his exhaustion and hunger. He paused to drink only so that he didn’t end up fainting. 

Finally the city drew near. He had been in it a few times in his life, and it had always awed him. She was beautifully built, somewhere between man and dwarf. Sturdy enough to withstand the centuries, and graceful enough to speak of countless kings. Bright and beautiful, he had always considered her undervalued by the other nations of men. 

Now he rushed over her streets with little care. The sun was all but set in the sky, and he was beyond exhaustion, but still he ran. He bumped into random strangers who reacted in obvious fright to having been hit by something they could not see. 

He ran into a particularly thick-chested dwarf and ended up flat on his bottom. The dwarf he’d collided with drew an axe out more quickly than Bilbo could blink and stepped to the right, blocking a female dwarf and an older dwarf with his body.

The female had golden, flowing hair that was braided in several familiar patterns. The older dwarf was familiar looking in a way that made Bilbo’s breath catch in his throat. He knew the sharp nose and pale eyes that the dwarf bore.

And he had a thick crown on his head. 

More guards moved in as he gaped at the sight. Dwarrow and Men alike, and the dwarf was not the only one who had a crown on his head. Bard stepped forward and said something, though it disappeared into the strange whispering that the Ring always seemed to create. 

Bilbo scrambled to his feet and pulled the ring off. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thengel is the father of Theoden. I loved how interested in hobbits Theoden was (in the book at least) and think his father would have shared an interest.


	11. Chapter 11

Dwalin had always been a suspicious dwarf. Thrain had allowed him to guard Thorin for that very reason. He could fondly remember many times when Thorin had teased the warrior for being too cautious.

So he hardly blinked when Dwalin stepped in front of them and hefted his axe up. He wouldn’t have really noted it at all if it wasn’t for the way Gloin also started.

“What was that?” The ginger demanded. Dwalin shook his head, his keen eyes scanning the crowd.

“Something hit me.”

“I felt it as well.”

“What?” He demanded. He looked around impatiently while Bard walked forward. The man had insisted on joining them as they entered his city. He was very aware of why they were visiting.

It should have been a very somber atmosphere. Yet Thrain was burning with a fury that allowed very little sympathy.

He had fought in three different wars in his lifetime, and he had hoped to go to the final rest without ever participating in a third. He had fought orcs, wargs, goblins, wolves, and even bears in his life. He had killed countless foul creatures, and had did not relished the thought of killing an elf.

If Thranduil truly had kept his son from him, he would easily find the determination to kill the fair creatures. If the elf had even kept news of him away, Thrain would end him.

“It felt like some-” Dwalin cut off sharply, and Thrain’s breath caught in his chest.

Where a moment before there had been nothing but grey cobblestone, there now sat a hobbit.

It was a bedraggled creature, dirty and worn with clothes that were threadbare. His feet were scraped and bleeding, and his curls were braided away from his face. He stared for a moment longer, shocked, and recognized the braid as dwarrow.

“Your majesty,” The hobbit panted before dropping to his knees. “Urgent news. Thorin in trouble.”

Thrain pushed past Dwalin despite the guard doing his level best to stay bodily between them. His heart was uncertain in his chest. Hope warred with terror. “Halfling, what do you speak of?”

“Prince Thorin.” The hobbit said again. He was breathing raggedly and was extremely pale. Thrain hadn’t noticed because of the dirt and dust on his face. He looked as if he’d rolled through the mud a few times.

“Prince Thorin was taken between here and Esgaroth by at least twenty riders. Leave now and you might still catch them.” The hobbit tilted his head the slightest bit so he could nearly look Thrain in the eyes. He still kept them away in deference. “We were both held captive by a man intent on robbing Erebor of its greatest jewel. We escaped and nearly returned to your kingdom before we were betrayed.” He seemed to grow even paler as he spoke. The words were heavy with regret and heartache, despite the struggle the hobbit clearly had in getting them out.

“Bilbo? Bilbo Baggins?” Balin pushed his way to the front of the crowd as the hobbit swayed.

“Yes.” Balin reached him and hauled the hobbit to his feet and Thrain moved in behind him.

His son had been seen.

The hobbit all but collapsed in the Balin’s arms. Nori came forward with a skin of water that Bilbo took gratefully. He guzzled it down and tilted his head back as he did so.

“You ran from there?” Thrain asked slowly, his eyes wandering over the hobbit’s face. They froze on the bead that decorated the hobbit’s unraveling braid. He had seen it countless times, often catching the light from the sun and shining. His hands had carefully forged it while he listened to Freris laughter in the air. He had hammered each rune into it with a whispered prayer while his lovely wife spoke of what she imagined Thorin’s love would be like. The bead’s mate was no where in sight, which could mean only one, shocking, thing.

The hobbit, Bilbo Baggins, had been given one of Thorin’s courtship beads. It was a secret that they kept among only those of their race. Others admired their beads and braids, but they did not know their meanings. They would not have paired the two on happenstance, nor would they have likely taken the proper bead. Or a single bead.

Had his son given it freely? Had he tried to send a message?

Had a dwarf betrayed them?

His eyes locked onto Bilbo, who was staring unashamedly at him, deference forgotten. “With all my might. I was gifted a trinket that allows me to go unseen.”

“My lord,” Bard interrupted, stepping forward and holding his hand to stop the conversation. “Might I suggest a more private place that we might meet? The house of my cousin is down that street. We may seek solace there and speak without worrying about unfriendly ears.”

He should have thought of that. He had let his emotions take over his judgment. He could not afford such lapse. “Thank you. Please lead the way, King Bard.”

The king moved to the front of the group with his own guard, and pressed a hand against Bilbo’s shoulder in passing. The hobbit smiled gratefully and Thrain realized, with mild surprise, that they were acquainted.

He turned to Dwalin to find that the dwarf was already marching towards their other dwarrows. “Find him.” With that order he turned to follow the hobbit.

It had been over two months since Thorin was captured, very nearly three months. What had happened during his imprisonment? Who was this hobbit, besides a friend of Gandalf? Why on earth did he have Thorin’s bead?

He followed with little thought, aware of dwarrows riding off, Fili and Kili among them, and a large company of Bard’s soldiers. Balin assisted the hobbit who continued to nurse the water gratefully. The dwelling of Bard’s cousin was spacious and warm, which was all they required. The door was shut behind them and Bilbo was assisted into a chair by Bard.

“Thank you, Sire.” The hobbit took a deep breath and pressed his palms against the table. His eyes found Thrain’s again. “Your Majesty. I met your son in the dungeons of Dol Guldur. Men captured me near Esgaroth. I was headed towards Rohan. They captured Tho-the Prince about a week after me. They told me the next day that they wanted me to enchant him. They wanted me to charm his heart to fall in love with me so that they could use me to make him give them the Arkenstone to keep me safe.”

Thrain’s eyes flickered to the bead again. Apparently their plan had worked.

The hobbit blushed under his gaze but continued regardless. “We became friends and escaped together. We traveled to the Brown Lands but we were pursued. We traveled along Mirkwood until we reached Esgaroth. We were betrayed there. They poisoned our pony and the men had us. Your son gave me this bead,” he unclasped it with trembling fingers and held it towards Thrain, “and told me to find you. He wanted me to tell you what I knew.”

“That is not all, is it?” Dis stated blandly. Her eyes were intent on the hobbit and her gaze was hard. Thrain did not want to hazard a guess as to what she was thinking.

His own thoughts were hardly comforting.

Bilbo met the far from friendly gaze unflinchingly. “No. The men were not particularly clever in that they did not realize I fell for Thorin. He told me of his own regard last night.” The hobbit swallowed thickly, tears welling in his eyes though he blinked them away. “That is why I had to leave him. I offered him my ring-he’s far more important than I am-but he told me to use it. He didn’t know what he’d do if I was in danger.”

Thrain sat down in the chair Bard had given him heavily.

-[]-[]-[]-

Thorin woke up blearily with the taste of dirt and blood in his mouth. He was face first in the dirt and it felt as if there was a thousand pounds sitting on his back. Every inch of his weary body was throbbing and he wanted to close his eyes and return to the blessed oblivion of sleep.

But reality was not so easily ignored.

He was bound with chains at his wrist and feet, once again fettered like the lowest of criminals. His breath was ragged and he recognized the horrible, familiar ache of broken ribs. The sword wound on his arm was throbbing, but seemed unimportant in comparison to the other injuries.

He had fallen six of the men. They had scarcely a dozen left. He was not certain of their current location, but he recognized the sound of leaves rustling in the wind.

Had he been dragged back to Mirkwood? Were the fates truly that cruel? Was there no way he could get away from the thrice damned forest?

His hands were bound behind his back, which meant they were useless for leverage. It was already getting difficult to breath through the blood and dirt anyway. He twisted his head against the dirt until his cheek was flat on it and he could breath through his mouth. His nose felt clogged and stung, which likely meant it too was broken.

They’d been a bit rougher in their capture this time.

He blew what he could out of his nose and spat the blood, dirt, and who-knew-what-else from his mouth.

“He ran away.”

“Lamir told you that the one disappeared into the air.”

“But this one knew about it.”

“Then he should have stolen it.”

“Maybe the potion worked.”

“Shekal.”* Thorin growled as darkly as he could. His throat felt dry and the word very nearly made him cough. He pushed up as well as he could, tucking his legs under his chest and using them to support himself. He instantly drew the gossiping mens attention to himself, and thanked Mahal that he had done so.

He could not risk them continuing along that strain of thought. They were already far too near to the truth.

“Ah, look, the princeling’s woken from his nap!”

A mug was thrust under his nose by a dirty hand. He lifted his gaze to stare at the man who offered it to him, and found himself staring at the leather-covered man who seemed to be the leader. “Drink.”

He contemplated spitting at the man again, but that would likely end with another concussion. He needed to stay strong and alert. He had to break free and find his father and hobbit. “After you.”

The man’s lips quirked in a slight smile. The mug was retracted and the leader took a sip from it. He swallowed dutifully and passed it back to Thorin. He took a sip of the clear liquid and let it soothe his throat.

He was in Mirkwood. He recognized the thick atmosphere and the moss growing on the trees. It looked like that in no other forest, and Thorin had been in them all.

“You gave us quite a scare for a while there. You have been out for many days.” The man stated conversationally while Thorin drank. He didn’t even give him the courtesy of eye contact. “Thomas hit you harder than he should have. You’ve got three damaged ribs now, and a possible concussion. You’ll get no sleep now. Not until we’re back at Dol Guldur.”

The mug was taken away and tossed by the other men. They were all watching their leader with hungry eyes. “You let the hobbit escape.”

“I believe it was _your_ prison we escaped from.” He glared for but a moment before looking at the trees behind the man again. The moss was greener in color, which meant they were near to the border. His captors hadn’t managed to drag him too far into the forest yet.

If Thranduil could be bothered at all to keep his borders clear of vermin, he’d be hopeful. He had met Thranduil, had spent nearly two months captured in the elf’s forest, and almost another month traveling along the edges of it.

He was anything but hopeful.

“Not my prison. A borrowed one. I own nothing that was the dark lords. I merely made use of the empty space. And you know that was not to what I was referring.” He leaned in and the stench of him was nearly enough to make Thorin gag.  “We are men of war, lies are not becoming.”

He made no reply and glared instead. He had nothing in common with this man. “You allowed the hobbit to escape when you could have used his magic for yourself.” His lips quirked up in the corner in a lewd smile. His eyes trailed over Thorin’s face and then his body. “You sought to distract my men earlier, and have tried to lead me from him even now. I did not think you were interested in males. Clearly I thought wrong.” He leaned down until his lips were next to Thorin’s ears. “We didn’t need magic, did we?”

He pulled back enough to study Thorin’s face, which was carefully kept exactly as it had been; angry and full of hate, before he continued. “Have you bed him yet? I’ve always heard that hobbits are gluttonous in all that they do.” He repressed the anger that the jibe was meant to stir and continued to glare unamused. “And he was always such fun to tease. He has quite the spirit. He probably tried to top.” He tilted his head as if considering something. Thorin dug his fingernails into his palm to distract himself from the rage bubbling in his stomach. His chest was already burning from the ribs, and he did not need the fire of anger. Bilbo would have told him in this man had used him in such ways. The injuries would have needed tending, and could not have been hidden.

“Do you imagine he’ll make it to Erebor? He’ll probably tell your father that you love him, and then make the most of his new station. He was far more clever than I gave him credit for. He stole your heart and will get the riches for it. He simply cut us out of the robbery.”

Would that be what his father thought? It hadn’t even occurred to him that anyone might doubt Bilbo. He had spent nearly three months with the hobbit. Bilbo had earned his trust and rewarded it time-after-time. He knew his hobbit to be trustworthy. Burglar or not, he had a heart of utter mithril.

But his father might not see that. He might assume it was all a ruse…

Had he sent his hobbit to his death?

Thorin kept glaring as he thought, his mind reeling with terror. The man smirked, and looked over his shoulder at his men. “So we simply need the hobbit.”

A twig cracked behind Thorin, and something rustled in a tree overhead.

A man standing to his right slumped over with a choke. There was an arrow sticking out of his back. In the time it took for Thorin to exhale, chaos descended on the camp. The leader lunged to his feet with a shout in the heavy tongue of men, while the others started to panic. They fumbled with their weapons, tripped, and trembled as more arrows started to fill the air.

Thorin rose to his feet with strength he didn’t have, and drove forward into the leaders stomach. The man went down with a startled cry and Thorin fell on top of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Coward in khuzdul.


	12. Chapter 12

Legolas had watched his forest fade for countless years. He had tiredly searched her borders for vermin and cleared unspeakable evil from her branches. He had nursed wounded trees and tended to frightened animals. He had fought against the darkness and poisoning of his forest with his every breath. Even when his father ignored her deterioration, he had not. 

That two travelers had been kidnapped and held in his forest for nearly two months? It infuriated him. He knew Bilbo well, and had enjoyed many an evening with him in the royal gardens. The young hobbit was full of the vibrant life that all hobbits seemed to possess, and had a kind spirit that was wonderfully refreshing. 

He was worth remembering, and very worth searching for, regardless of his connections to Gandalf. 

Thorin was another matter.

He had known the dwarf since his birth, though the prince was probably unaware of that fact. He had watched him grow, and had part in it. He had made agreements with the prince, attended councils, and even fought with him. He was honorable and clever, and had the promise of a brilliant leader. He was less head-strong than his father, and quicker to listen than his cousin. He had the natural distrust of elves, of course, but he was always courteous when in their territory.

He was worth searching for solely because of who he was. He was part of an alliance they could not lose. 

He had tracked the forest for days, endlessly searching for the hobbit, officially. He was keeping his eyes peeled for either. 

The trail was easy enough to spot. It was clear the travelers had been going for speed instead of discretion. Once spotted, it was simply a matter of alerting his fellow scouts to follow. They traveled easily by tree-top, as they had all spent centuries among the trees. No others knew the forest so well as they did.

He did not expect to come across the men. He had honestly expected dwarves.

The prince was in the center of the circle of men. He was bound with chains behind his back, and was glaring at a man dressed in leather. He had bandages wound around his chest and obvious signs of a sword injury on his arm. His cheek and eye were swollen as well. 

There were a dozen or so men surrounding him, a few of which were injured. They were all focusing on the man nearest Thorin, who was in black leather. He was leering at the prince in a manner that made Legolas’ skin crawl. Thorin was still sitting perfectly straight and glaring at the man. It would clearly be painful to sit in such a manner, but he was doing it regardless. He could not help but admire such strength, even in the dwarves.

Legolas lifted his gaze and motioned to his scouts. He lifted his own bow, released a steady breath, and let the arrow fly. His mark fell in utter shock, and the other men shot to their feet in panic.

He let another arrow fly as Thorin surged to his own feet. The dwarf prince tackled the man in front of him to the ground, knocking his weapon from his hand. Thorin rolled to the side, took the weapon in his hand, rolled back over, and stabbed the man in the side before he could realize what was happening. 

The man screamed in rage and threw Thorin off of himself. Another man sprang on top of the fallen dwarf and a grapple proceeded, that Legolas could see very little of. He jumped down from his tree and withdrew his knives as he rushed forward. He slashed at the nearest man, who recoiled in terror, and continued forward. He brought down another man, and finally reached the one that was trying to finish Thorin off.

He hated people such as this. They had tried to profit off another’s life. They had no care for growing things, no care for the sacred and beautiful. They were hateful and vile, and often worse than orcs for the evil they could hold in their hearts.

Legolas’ hand closed around the man’s hair and he jerked him back to press the blade against his throat. He found Thorin’s gaze and studied the bruised face. The pale eyes were full of unspeakable hate and determination that morphed into shock at seeing Legolas.

“Are there any more?” His elves would take care of the rest of the camp. Thorin shook his head.

He slit the man’s throat. It would not bring back his beautiful forest, but he would start to clean it here.

-[]-[]-[]-

Thranduil was obstinate as always. 

They came in bloodied and battered, Thorin did at least, but the elf held almost no care for such thing. He simply ran his eyes over Thorin, looked back at Legolas, and frowned in disappointment. As if he was annoyed that Thorin should be found.

He was half delirious, concussed, and bleeding, but he would be dead before he let the useless elf see him as weak.

“King Thranduil, I am glad that your son has skill tracking.” The words were rough and scratchy in his throat, and he nearly cringed to hear them spoken out loud. 

“And are you alone?”

“Master Baggins was not with them. Prince Thorin has already sent him to Dale.” Legolas moved closer as he spoke, bowing at the waist before he joined Thorin’s side. He hovered near him uncertainly, clearly aware of how much Thorin needed to just sit down. Elves were forever baffled at how they managed to go on when injured. They did not realize how thick dwarrow skin was, or how hardy their hearts were.

“What transpired?” His vision swam momentarily but cleared when he blinked.

The words registered and he simply lifted an unamused eyebrow. As if Thorin would tell the elf king before he told his own father. He did not have the energy to spare for this pointless debate. He was already dizzy. His side was sticky with spilt blood and the burning in his chest was enough to distract him from all else.

“What has happened to my hobbit?” He had only ever heard the low voice one other time in his life, but there was no mistaking the power it vibrated with.  

“We were overtaken at Esgaroth. I sent him ahead with his trinket to inform my father of what had passed.” He spoke the words as he turned to face Gandalf. The wizard was leaning heavily on his staff and looked weary with age and cares. He had struck an impressive pose when Thorin had last seen him, but now he seemed dangerous. There was evident care, and a fire in his grey eyes. Men who cared would go to any end for such things.

He made the very air seem to surge with eager power.

Legolas stepped closer to him, his hand hovering near Thorin’s back. He wisely kept it to himself. Thorin was not so weak he would faint here. “Overtaken?”

“He was taken on his way to Rohan, I was taken on Mirkwood’s borders. We were both brought to Dol Guldur without our knowledge and imprisoned there. We escaped together and made our way to the Brown Lands. We obtained a pony there and made our way back along Mirkwood in secret. At Esgaroth we were betrayed.”

“By who?” The two words were spoken in a tone that made a chill run down Thorin’s spine. The air grew cold enough that he could see his breath. He answered without thought, his own revenge forgotten.

“The Master.”

“Of Esgaroth?” Thranduil sounded utterly surprised. Thorin turned his gaze on him, mildly disgusted. The Master was a treacherous man concerned only with his belly and gold. It was no shock that he would do such a thing. Trade agreements did not ensure loyalty.

Thorin should have suspected it. He had not, and he had physically paid for his lack of foresight. He was already nearly sapped of all strength from the wounds he bore. He needed to leave. “My father will see that he is kept safe.”

The wizard’s piercing eyes studied him, scanning his face, his braids, his chest and the blood that had soaked his tunic. “Indeed? And why should the King Under the Mountain be inclined to keep my hobbit safe?”

“He would not risk your anger.” He would  _ not _ have this conversation here or now. Not in front of elves, and not when he was dizzy with pain. 

“Please, Mithrandir, he needs medicine and healing. The men were not kind to him, and the final battle resulted in a chest wound.”

Gandalf harrumphed and gave his head a shake. “Very well.” Legolas stepped forward and started down the hall towards Thorin’s customary rooms. He lingered a moment longer before following. Gandalf was glaring at Thranduil, who was glaring at him, and he didn’t give a care about eithers annoyance. 

He didn’t realize the wizard was following him until they had made it to his room. And that was only because of the click of his staff. It was a testament to his distraction that it took him so long to notice. He made no comment to the fact that they were followed. He made no comment until he was in his room. He sat wearily on the bed and thanked Legolas for his assistance. The prince bowed in return.

“The healers will be here in a moment. I will personally send news to your father. Is there anything you would have me say?” 

He found himself smiling wryly, something he had not done in days. “Tell him the negotiations went well.”

Legolas’ lips quirked up for the briefest of moments before he was slipping away.

“What are you not telling me?”

He had not intended on speaking of any of this before he had the chance to speak with Bilbo. He had intended to present the bead to him properly in his secret spot in Erebor. He would weave the braid with permission (if it was given) and kiss his hobbit under the stars. Then he would inform the wizard of what had transpired.

“The reason for our capture. The men believed Bilbo to possess magic.” Gandalf sat down heavily on the chair near the bed. He pulled his staff closer and looked oddly small. “They wanted him to bewitch me. They planned this for a long while.” He pushed the covers back, aware of how blood stained and ruined his clothes were. He considered climbing under the blanket regardless. He was exhausted and that inevitably made him cold, but he was not so rude. He would not ruin the linens.

“Was he tortured?”

His hand paused on the moving of the blanket. An echo of Bilbo’s screams during his ‘sessions’ shot across his mind and made his blood run thick and cold through his veins. He could vividly recall the mottled bruises that had decorated the hobbit’s back, the blood that he had methodically cleaned away. The cry of fear when he couldn’t seem to find any air. “Yes.”

The air grew oddly warmer, and Gandalf seemed to tense in his seat. “He informed them he had no magic and they harmed him.” He continued darkly, hoping it would be enough to satisfy the wizard. He did not care to explain his feelings before he could fully explain it to his hobbit.

“Then it is by the grace of the Valar, and the wisdom of Eru that they have already passed beyond this world. There is no place on Middle Earth they could hide from me.”

The cold hate was enough to make him shiver.

-[]-[]-[]-

He woke with a head that was pounding, and he was severely dizzy enough that he nearly vomited over the edge of the bed.

He was in a bed. A soft feather thing that made him relax marginally. Still, the splitting headache did not ease, his chest was tight, and his side ached.

“And then he found himself an army of angry cats.” The deep voice was nearly laughing at whatever tale was being told, and the sound of it had Thorin releasing the tension in his body. He became aware, gradually, of someone stroking his hair, of calloused fingers brushing against his face as the voice spoke. Further words were hard to decipher, but his brain finally cleared enough for him to truly place the voice. Another laugh echoed, and it made his eyes snapped open in disbelief.

“Dwalin? Fili?” hair filled his vision, grey eyes, and a sharp nose. Scars, a strong jaw, no beads or complicated plaits… His bodyguard.

“Uncle!” the hand in his hair tightened momentarily before Fili’s face appeared beside Dwalin’s. Kili appeared a breath later, brown eyes wide.

“You are an idiot.” Dwalin declared, his voice thick. Thorin blinked and swallowed in hopes that it would help clear his head a little.

“And alive. Nothing else matters.” The fourth voice made Thorin’s heart stop for a beat, before it pounded eagerly. His head tilted to the right to see his father. He had on his full royal regalia and bore the braids of battle.

What had happened?

“Did Bilbo find you?” His nephew’s knuckles brushed his cheek again before dropping to rake through his hair. He let his eyes slip closed for a moment as a bout of dizziness hit him.

“The hobbit did. He can disappear.”

“It was useful in escaping.” He swallowed, his throat dry and sore. When he opened his eyes again a cup was pressed to his lips by Fili. Kili continued to stroke his hair while Dwalin glared.

“You broke protocol.” The words were said harshly, and with a bit more bite than probably intended. Thorin did not take it, and could not have taken it, personally. It was the only way Dwalin showed affection in front of others. The anger was his way of caring. If he was indifferent, you were despised.

“We were attacked. I would not leave them.”

“It doesn’t matter. They’re gone and you’re safe again. We’re going to personally escort you to Erebor when you’re well enough.” Kili spoke determinedly, his eyes flashing with conviction that was enduring.  

“I wish to speak alone with my son.” The words were spoken suddenly, and in a tone that brook no argument. His nephews looked to their grandfather uncertainly while Dwalin stood. He gave a stiff bow, spared Thorin one last look, and then escorted Fili and Kili from the room. Thrain moved to Dwalin’s empty chair as they left. He leaned forward and placed his hand beside Thorin’s. The other one moved to stroke his hair like Kili had been.

“My son. Rest easy, all shall once again be well.” His father blinked down at him, and Thorin half imagined there were tears in his blue eyes. He had not seen his father cry in a century. Not since the loss of Frerin.

“Did they tell you what had transpired?”

“That the elves cleared out the remaining abductors? Yes. Gandalf is headed to Dol Guldur to make certain that they did not awaken anything in their foolishness.”

The words made a strange panic twist through his gut. He was supposed to have more time. The wizard could not leave yet, because he would not leave alone. Thorin had to speak with Bilbo. He had to have the chance to braid his hair and show him Erebor and dance with him. There were countless things to be done, and there had not been  _ time _ .

“And Bilbo? Did he go with Gandalf?”

Thrain sat back, his fingers slipping from Thorin’s hair and his warm gaze changing to the cool indifference court life demanded. Thorin’s gaze drifted to the door, expecting to see an elf or some other intruder.

There was no one but them in the room. His eyes shot back to his father, confused by the distance. “He has remained. Gandalf would not risk him on such a venture. He awaits us at Erebor. The wizard will seek for him there.” Relief was quick and sweet even through the confusion and sudden drowsiness. Every muscle of his body seemed to ache, and every bone was painful. He longed for the simple comfort of his father’s touch, even though he could not ask for it.

Bilbo would have touched him. The hobbit was tactile in all that he did. At least he was tactile outside of prison. Beautifully so. Why had he gone to Erebor in stead of Mirkwood? He had wished to show the hobbit his home.

“I have much to tell you.” He murmured, his eyes already drooping. “Much to… do…” Whatever the elves had given was effective. His eyes slipped close and he could not open them again.


	13. Chapter 13

Thorin woke up groggy, sore, and mildly confused. He laid still for a moment, unable to move his eyelids for how utterly heavy they felt. He recognized the smell of incense in the air, which told him his location more than anything else. He was in Thranduil’s palace.

Memories flooded as he forced his eyes open and took stock of his body.

The fierce ache was gone from his stomach and chest, which meant he had been tended to. He could feel the slight tug of stitches on an exhale, and the itch of medicine on his chest.

There was a chair beside his bed, and a familiar form was curled up in it with a book.  

“Bilbo?” He coughed the word, instantly drawing the hobbit’s attention. His Burglar sprang from his chair with a clatter as his book fell to the floor. He stepped over it uncaring and leaned against the bed so he could peer down at Thorin. There was a nasty bruise on cheek, and he had a split lip. His braid had all but fallen out, though what little remained had been clasped with Thorin’s bead once more.

“Oh bless it, you’re awake!” The hobbit leaned closer, tears shining in his green eyes.

Thorin couldn’t seem to believe his own eyes. How had he gotten here? How was Bilbo beside him? He was supposed to be in Erebor.

“How are you here?” Bilbo smiled, beautifully, and climbed up on the bed. The hobbit settled beside him and cupped his face with both hands. He ran his thumbs along Thorin’s cheekbones, which were one of the only spots on his body that didn’t hurt, and beamed down at him.

“My dear dwarf,” he murmured, and the love in his voice was unmistakable. Love, affection, and joy, all mixed to form the beautiful notes of his hobbit’s voice. “Would you believe me if I said magic?”

Thorin shook his head. “No.” He felt as if he couldn’t breathe, though his lungs no longer flared with the pain of collapsing.

Bilbo leaned in close until there was only a breath between them. “Then magic.”

Thorin huffed out a laugh before he was quite aware of it and Bilbo’s smile became utterly radiant. He had not thought of their first conversation in a long while, and to hear it now filled him with a relief that was as giddy as joy. It was thick in his chest and enough to make him feel shivery.

The hobbit shifted around until he was seated beside Thorin. His hands drifted down until they found Thorin’s own and gave it a squeeze. “In all seriousness though,” his thumb stroked the back of Thorin’s hand, “I came with your father. Another group of dwarrows and men had already arrived, and we joined them. I thought you had already seen your father? Did he not tell you?” Bilbo’s eyes met his, green as the grass of summer, and serious as a storm.

“I-no.” He swallowed, confusion consuming him. It was hard to think clearly, he recognized the horrible cloudiness of poppy juice, but such a thing made no sense. Why would his father tell him Bilbo was in Erebor when he knew the hobbit had traveled with them?

Bilbo lowered his head and pressed it gently against Thorin’s forehead. There was no injury there, thankfully. “He ordered this entire wing to be blocked off for your private use. Thranduil allowed him after he pretended it was his idea. He gave a touching speech about wanting to ensure your peace of mind.” The laughter in Bilbo’s voice was shockingly soothing and made Thorin want to press up into it. To wrap himself around the sound. “I used my ring to get past the guards.”

He swallowed thickly and tried not to feel so very much. There would be no going to Erebor now. “Gandalf threatened the elf king on your behalf.”

Bilbo’s eyes crinkled at the corner as he drew back a bit. “I can’t imagine how that conversation went. The king is lucky that Gandalf had to go to Dol Guldur to make certain nothing was awakened by the men. He left word with Legolas that he would send for me at Erebor.”

He dropped his gaze to his lap, noticing their intertwined hands. There was dirt and scratches from the hard months on his. It was calloused from weapons, and burns could be seen from smithing. His hand were not as smooth or pleasant as Bilbo’s hand. Thorin’s spoke of the life he had lived, hard and long. Bilbo was soft and smooth, there was no evidence of the many adventures he had enjoyed anywhere but his eyes.

There was quiet for a moment more, then, barely whispered: “If I’m still allowed?”

He lifted his gaze to meet Bilbo’s instantly. Uncertainty was reflected in the green eyes that were always so bright. “You are forever welcomed in my home, Bilbo. I should like the chance to re-braid your hair there.”

He was being horribly forward with such things. He had ignored the proper rituals in asking once more. His mother would have swatted his ears and Balin would have made him recite the entire passage on courtship once more.

But the smile Bilbo gave him, and the way his green eyes utterly lit at the offer was very worth it. He smiled, and it was only a little silly, in return.

-[]-[]-[]-

  
The crowned prince of Mirkwood was surprisingly mischievous. He would have expected it from Dwalin, the dwarf only gave the persona of seriousness, but never from the elf.

He had thought it odd to be served a meal by the prince, odder still when the elf had blatantly winked at him and then left with a near laugh. He’d watched the door in suspicion for a long moment, then tended to his lunch.

There was nothing but a bit of paper on the tray. No food or drink. The note was written in an un-familiar hand with five words.

_Come to the garden._

_-Bilbo_

Dwalin had then opened the door to his room and bowed with a flourish. Thorin had stared at him in surprise before the dwarf motioned for him to stand. He had done so, a little uncertainly, and then padded his way across the wood floor.

And all the while Dwalin smirked.

The dwarf led him down several high, twisting hallways and down until they were outside of the palace. It was, he supposed, a lovely garden. Certainly extragant, though he preferred the geometrical designs of Erebor’s gardens.

His shield-brother led him deeper in the garden before coming to a stop in a clearing and bowing once more. He raised an eyebrow at him as the dwarf took a step back. He opened his mouth to question when the scent of fresh bread hit him. His head snapped to the right to see what he was smelling and he found his eyes widening in surprise as shock shot through his body. He stumbled forward a step and Dwalin exited back the way they had come.

“Hello, your majesty.” Bilbo bowed low at the waist, very nearly spilling the golden liquid in his jug. His golden curls swung down, bright and clean, and utterly braid free. He was dressed in a green tunic of dwarf design, and soft breeches. His feet were left bare, and he bore no ornaments at first glance. Then the hobbit tilted his head up slightly and Thorin caught sight of a bright bead clasped by his ear.

“Bilbo?” He took another step towards the tree that Bilbo was by. The hobbit straightened and set the jug on a blanket at the roots of the tree. A blanket that was already laden with food.

“I hope you don’t mind. Legolas let me in. I, um, brought lunch.” He didn’t say the obvious, that Thrain had refused anyone but his kin access to Thorin’s room.

He tore his eyes from the bright hobbit in front of him to glance at the spread of food. Aside from the ale Bilbo had been carrying, he also recognized his favorite meats, cheeses, and a salad. It was impossible not to grin. Every item he had mentioned longing for in the prison was present.

“Thank you.” He stepped towards Bilbo as something warm unfurled in his chest. It filled his entire body until he felt as if he was nearly glowing. He couldn’t tear his eyes from the hobbit if he had to, and for the first time in their acquaintance he didn’t have to. There was no danger. No one to try and do them harm in Thranduil’s palace. Certainly not with his dwarrows near, and with the threat of Gandalf’s vengeance in the air.

He didn’t stop until he was in front of Bilbo, who couldn’t quite seem to meet his eyes. His shoulders were hunched in seeming worry, and he was nearly frowning. “What is it?” He asked, his voice a low pitch he had seldom heard.

Bilbo’s hands reached out to grab Thorin’s left hand, and he pulled it close to rest against his chest for a moment before bringing it to his lips and pressing a kiss to the knuckles. “I thought you were dead, you know.”

He stepped closer, hope and want blooming in his chest and flooding his veins. His right hand reached up to cup Bilbo’s cheek and tilt the hobbit’s face up so he could look in his eyes. “You were surrounded by dozens of men and I had to leave you there. Then your father sent others after you and I had to remain with him until he left, and they said such awful things when they thought I couldn’t hear.” He shuddered and pressed into Thorin’s hand.

“I am well, as you are.” He pressed his forehead against Bilbo’s, savoring the intimacy of the moment. “And you have agreed to wear my braid.” Bilbo started to nod his head but aborted the motion and pressed closer instead.

“I think it’ll be just the adventure I was wanting. I certainly couldn’t have found a better companion.”

Then Bilbo was kissing Thorin, his mouth warm, pressing, and utterly certain. A slow kiss, full of surety and comfort Thorin had desperately wanted. He pressed into it, his left hand tangling in Bilbo’s hair while his right hand continued to be held by Bilbo’s smooth hands. The hobbit’s tongue slipped in to meet his and was accompanied by a small moan that cracked what resolve Thorin had been holding onto. He tugged his hand free and pulled Bilbo flat to his chest before bending down and pressing him into the grass. He tangled his hand in the soft curls, imagining all the ways he would braid them and the beads he would adorn them with. Bilbo’s hands wrapped around his neck while he took advantage of the way he was trapped between Thorin and the wall to wrap his legs around Thorin’s waist. He groaned into the hobbit’s mouth before tearing free to press kisses down his jaw, then the tempting column of his neck while the hand that wasn’t buried in curls dropped down to cup his Burglar’s generous rear.

Lunch could wait.

-[]-[]-[]-

The grass underfoot was hardly able to be seen byo Thrain. It was soft and sun warmed, but held all the welcome of a warg attack.

He had suspected, of course. From the moment his eyes had landed on the bedraggled Halfling with one shining bead. Oh, had he suspected.

And three times now he had caught them in the garden. They were unaware of his presence, uncaring that they were in the home of an elf, nearly shagging in a garden! Thorin held no care for Dwarrow courtship or customs, and seemed incapable of thinking near the halfiing. They would chat about various topics, but never on the men that had taken them. Never on the discomfort of living with elves.

They talked about food, adventures, even stateship! It was sickening to behold and made Thrain's blood thunder in his veins.

It was all clear now, and there was nothing else that could be thought about as he left the garden and the sound of his son’s laughter mingled with the Halfling.

The halfling had betrayed his son. The wretch had been captured against his will, of course, but he had heard his captors plan and thought it a good one. He had thrown a twist on it, and betrayed all. He would have had to wait long to lure Thorin out of his suspicion, but once it was done, the enchanter would have had an easy time of charming his warm heart. Thorin held the best of all dwarrows, the brightness of a soul that had lost many dear ones but not lost hope or the ability to love. He was first in battle to protect those he would rule, and always last in retreat. He would laugh loudest at a joke in the darkest times, and hold more cheer over a meager feast than any other. He was unwavering in his convictions but would hear the reasons of any subject. He was a true ghivashel, a treasure of all treasures.

Had his son known what was happening? Had he ever suspected the evil in the halfling’s heart?

He had lied to Thrain’s son. He had taken the heart of a dwarf, something that could only ever be given once, and used it to secure his own safety. He had seen an escape and reached for it by stepping on the prince. He had probably intended to stay in safety until Thorin was retrieved, and now he would bend him to whatever his treacherous will desired.

The dishonorable whelp had used magic on his son, and made him think it was his free will. He had made Thorin believe they were finding freedom, and a beautiful romance from their shared captivity, when it was nothing but vile sorcery.

He would see the halfling burned for this betrayal. He would simply have to wait until his son was otherwise occupied.

The blood fury was on him now, and it would not be appeased until every drop of blood had been spilled from _all_ who had betrayed his heir.


	14. Chapter 14

_Thorin was alive._

The thought would strike him every once in a while, and he’d find himself with a silly smile and the urge to put a hand on the bead in his hair.

Thorin grew stronger each day. He no longer had the horrible pallor and Oin even declared that they could head for Erebor in another two weeks. His side and lungs would be sufficiently healed by then.

His side where he’d been stabbed. Bilbo wasn’t quite certain what to do with that. He’d seen Gandalf in a variety of pained states, from bruises to broken limbs, but never with a stab wound.

If it had been an inch or two in another direction would have hit -

He refused to think about it.

The stolen hours with Thorin were wonderful, and promised far more wonderful hours to come. Thorin had asked to braid his hair, and he didn’t have to be a dwarf to figure out that was significant. Paired with the Prince’s bead-which the other 13 dwarrows kept staring at-he felt it was very promising for a future.

He wanted one, surprisingly.

The rest of his day was spent in a variety of ways. He spoke with Legolas, ever a friend, and tended the gardens. He aided Eilonwy in the kitchens by fixing the foods that were of dwarrow taste. (And avoided insulting either culture, which neither race could have done.) Or he hung out with the other dwarrows. Of the three dozen dwarrows Thrain brought, there were twelve in particular that he became acquainted with.

Dwalin and Bifur were frightening at first, but they had hearts of gold and surprisingly quick wits. Dori, Gloin, and Balin all had the taste of upper class and were exceptionally well learned. Bombur had a heart of utter gold, and a love of food that would have made any hobbit proud. Oin was a brilliant healer and very loyal, if a little abrupt. Fili and Kili were mischievous when they were with certain dwarrows, and respectful with their uncle or Balin. They had some of Thorin’s presence, though they lacked his aura of leadership. You simply felt safe near him. It was clear he knew what he was doing.

Bofur and Ori were the two he found himself getting along with best.

Ori was being courted by Dwalin, which meant he saw the dwarf quite often, and often with a small smile while he watched Ori work. He would never stay for long as it was his duty to guard Thorin.

Bofur was betrothed to Nori, a dwarf who had more or less disappeared within a week of arriving.

He wore his hair in three braids, but there was one braid woven into the braid on the left side of his head. An extra bead clasped it shut. It was the same style as the braid Thorin had most recently put in his hair, which was quite a lot to think about.

Bilbo turned a corner and tried not to fidget too much.

The scent of flowers was heavy in the air, but offered no rest for him. Legolas was on patrol, and there was no one else with whom he could plant. He wanted to bury his hands in the dirt all around him and plant something-anything-to soothe his nerves. Lunch had been a tense affair, and he had eaten with Saruman before. He hadn’t thought he could get more tense than that wizard.

Thrain was, apparently, determined to prove him quite wrong.

He had liked the dwarf king at first glance, mainly because of the resemblance to his son. It had helped to ease Bilbo’s panicked heart.

But then the king had noticed the bead in his hair. Bilbo was no fool, he could tell when someone disliked him, but he felt that even a blind troll would have noticed Thrain’s dislike. He seemed to make the very air icier. Shadows grew longer near him, and he, like Gandalf, seemed capable of growing to fill the space he was in. It made Bilbo’s heart falter. He had no idea what he had done to deserve the dwarf’s dark stare.

He turned on his heel again and started back down the path. He’d paced it at least fifty times by now, but he couldn’t stop. His feet were aching and he needed to simply rest, but he could not. The height of the bridge would normally have made him dizzy, but it did nothing today. It didn’t even distract him.

Dwalin said that there were footsteps around the garden he’d taken breakfast with Thorin in. He didn’t want to imagine just who had seen them there.

He didn’t really have to imagine.

He’d taken lunch with the dwarrows and Thrain had been in tendance. He had glared at Bilbo for nearly the entirety of the meal. To such an extent that Balin had even tried to distract him.

Bilbo turned another corner and tried not to frown. Everything in Mirkwood seemed too tall and too thin.

“Burglar!” He jumped at the growled word and spun around to see the King Under the Mountain marching towards him. The King’s blue eyes seemed to burn with fire fueled by hatred, and he seemed twice as large. The scars on his face stood out vividly, and the air of a crazed warrior was about him. The legendary berserker rage of dwarrows.

He had read stories about them as a lad, and heard tales of the fury that the mountain dwellers fought with. They would feel no pain until the battle was won, or they were dead. The stories spoke of dwarrows losing limbs without pausing. That they would take three dozens arrows and only fall when their heart was pierced.

Bilbo took a step back, trying to control the terror that sprang in his heart at the sight of the angered king. It was enough to make his legs even tremble. He was certain the rage wasn’t directed at him, but it was humbling regardless.

Besides, there was no where he could really go. There was drop to either side. Forest elves adored drops. They didn’t have the sensibility of hobbits.

His hand went to his pocket where he kept his ring on instinct, but he moved it back to hang at his side and tried to relax. There was no real reason to fret.

“Your majesty.” He bowed at the waist and took a quick breath. The trees cast strange shadows around them, adding to the familiar, heavy atmosphere of Mirkwood. The air was harder to breath than it should be, and his heart was rabbiting in his chest.

He exhaled and straightened as Thrain reached him.

“You have betrayed my son!” The dwarf took another large step forward, and there was nowhere for Bilbo to go. No place to retreat from the dwarf. His heel hit the edge of the path and he felt open air at his back as he sucked in a startled breath.

What betrayal was Thrain even talking about? Thorin was safe! He was healing safely. They were planning on returning to Erebor.  “Sire-“

Thrain’s right hand went to his braid, what was left of the one Thorin had gifted him the morning before the second abduction, and closed around the bead there. His left hand went to Bilbo’s throat to hold him still. The dwarf’s body blocked everything else from view so he could only see the enraged King. He couldn’t hear anything past the pounding of blood in his ears, and his vision seemed to narrow with fright. “You bewitched him to seduce him, and would use his heart to make a slave of him!” The thick fingers gave a hard jerk that made Bilbo cry out with pain as the bead was torn from his head, along with rather a lot of his hair. The braid swung back, torn and ruined while the hand on his throat tightened in warning.

He hadn’t done anything. He had fallen in love unwillingly, and tried desperately to only be a friend to Thorin in that dark place. He had selfishly accepted the love Thorin offered, but he would never trick someone into love. Especially not a dwarf.

He could never be that cruel.

And why would anyone, knowing Thorin, not fall in love with him? He was clever, funny, kind, determined, strong, handsome… He was impossible not to love. And that love, the constant ache of it that was wonderful when Thorin was near but painful with him gone, was consuming.

Thrain’s eyes trained on the bead pinched between his finger and thumb. He had pulled back slightly and looked all the more wild. His gaze turned back on Bilbo, and the utter hate in them made Bilbo’s blood run thick and cold through his veins.

“I think it is time he was free of you.” Then Bilbo found himself being pushed while Thorin’s bead was pocketed by Thrain. The dwarf dragged him, by his throat, to the other side of the thin bridge. Tears were filling his eyes from lack of air and pain, and no small amount of terror. “I will learn if you have magic.” Thrain whispered the words fiercely before jerking Bilbo so that he stumbled and was dragged along. “By whatever means necessary.”

-[]-[]-[]-

_The dwarf is mad_

The words made sense in his mind, though he did not recognize them or the voice that spoke them. He could hear a clatter of metal, a sound that made him instantly think of battles. He pried his eyes open at the sound of it and pushed himself up in the same movement. He’d fallen asleep in the garden, something that would have horrified him a few months back, but seemed utterly natural now.

He could see movement through the far side of the trees, which he blinked at blearily. It was later than it should have been, evening at least. Had he slept so long?

_Thrain will nahtaros._

The words filtered to Quenya so swiftly that Thorin hardly registered he was hearing it. He took a moment to pick apart the final word, confused by the rushing soldiers and his seeming solitude.

 _Slay him_ _._ The Quenya rose to his mind and made him pause in standing. Slay who? What was his father doing? Where was Dwalin? Bilbo?

His hobbit had promised to join him in the afternoon.

M _ithrandir’s periandion. Carormë_ (Gandalf’s hobbit. Make haste.)

He stood up and went towards the soldiers without blinking. He did not know what was transpiring, but it involved his father and Bilbo. He needed no other information.

He turned right once he was on the path that led back to the castle. He had walked it several times in the last few days, usually with Dwalin and Bilbo. The guards ran ahead of him, and he quickened his pace to keep up. His lungs and side instantly complained but he dutifully ignored them.

It was easy enough to draw on training as he lurched into a full run after the soldiers. Training would do what will alone often could not. Muscles that were made to repeat motions thousands of time did them on instinct. Regardless of physical state.

He rounded the corner as a startlingly loud, and familiar, voice pierced the air. **“Uhfar!”** (Traitor!)

His head snapped up, to the right towards the bridge that extended over head, and his breath caught sharply in his throat. He took a small step towards the voice, uncaring at the rage in it. He continued onward. He had to bring the bridge into view.

A cry of pain pierced the air and hit him with the force of a physical blow, knocking the air from him and making him stagger a step forward, painfully. There was no questioning who his father was speaking to now. That had been Bilbo’s voice. He had heard that same cry countless times in the air during Bilbo’s ‘sessions.’ He had listened to them helplessly, seething with a rage he couldn’t understand. He had vowed never to listen passively to them again once he was free.

“Thorin!” The reprimand was sharp and near, but he ignored it as who all was on the bridge finally came into view.

His father was holding Bilbo on the edge of the bridge. The hobbit’s feet barely gripping onto the edge, and his heels were hanging over without anything to catch onto while his hands fought to hold onto Thrain’s extended arm. He was ragged, bruised, and weaponless. His curls looked torn, and there was no bead evident in his hair.

His beautiful hobbit had been hurt, and there was nothing Thorin could do but acknowledge that his father had done the hurting. The one he called father had done this.

“Thorin!” Legolas was at his side. Thorin had not even see him coming until the elf was there. His grey eyes were pale with horror as they took in what was unfolding. The elf soldiers were attempting to ascend the bridge, but there was a row of dwarrows between them and the king. They clearly didn’t want to raise hostilities, or risk Bilbo being dropped.

“Father, what is this madness?” More elves could be seen moving from one bridge to another on the left, too far to be of any real aid. Legolas was directly beside him, shocked and too far to help the hobbit.

“Thorin?” Thrain’s hold on Bilbo wavered for a moment and the hobbit drew in a desperate breath before Thrain tightened his fist once more and leveled a glare at the halfling.

“What are you doing to my chosen?” His father had stared at him with eager, almost hungry eyes until he mentioned his chosen. They seemed to shutter and grow cold.

“I have come to bring an end to your madness.” Thrain’s voice was cool in the evening air. Hateful and determined. It was enough to make a horrible chill run down Thorin’s spine. He nearly trembled as he tried for another step. Legolas watched him go, and tightened his grip on his knife.

He could look at nothing else. His father, the one he had counted most loyal in all of Middle Earth, was in front of him. His father was attempting to murder the hobbit who had aided him in prison, who had escaped with him, who had sought aid at his own danger, and who had quite easily called Thorin’s heart to join his own.

Bilbo was struggling to stay alive, but not to escape. He tried to find Thorin’s eyes, but he couldn’t quite manage. He ached for the contact, and tried to struggle forward.

“ _Oar netors._ (Seize him!)” Thranduil’s tone was sharp and cut through the air, breaking the shock that was upon everyone else. Two guards came at Thorin from behind and pushed past Legolas. They grabbed his arms and pulled him back. He twisted his body, trying to free himself.

“Not him!” Thranduil barked, sounding infuriated. “King, why are you harming the halfling?”

“Bilbo.” Legolas mouthed, looking utterly irritated as his father strode forward. The guards released Thorin’s arms and stood by his side instead. He returned his gaze back to his father who was glowering fiercely. There was unspeakable fury in his eyes.

“He has betrayed my kin. I am taking him into my custody until the magic he has wrought can be undone.”

Thranduil crossed his arms over his chest and opened his mouth to make a response. Thorin cut in before he could.

“Father!” He shouted, his heart pounding with disbelief and something akin to panic. He should not do this in such away. There were steps to follow, permissions to ask. He did not even know if Bilbo would want him in that way, but he could not let this evil happen. He would have to act now.

“You have been captured for long months, and betrayed on every level. This,” his father shook Bilbo violently and the hobbit gasped horribly enough to make Thorin lurch. Bilbo’s foot slipped off the cliff and scrabbled for a moment before finding purchase again, “coward has bewitched you. Bewitched you enough that you would lose reason.”

His father thought the men had succeeded in their plan? To what end? Bilbo would be a member of the court, that would not make the wealth of Erebor’s his any more than it was Thorin’s. It belonged to the people.

Bilbo was already fairly rich. He didn’t want money, no hobbit really did. They wanted comfort. Gems and precious metals didn’t call to them as it did dwarrows.

“I have pledged my troth to Master Baggins. We are to be wed and as such he is under my protection. What proof have you of these mad charges?”

Legolas’ gave his head an approving nod while Thranduil very nearly gaped. He recovered the mild surprise quickly and stood all the straighter.

“You! You are my proof. You are cursed. Without Bilbo’s influence the spell will fade.”

There was only one way to test that theory, and it was _not_ going to happen. Not while Thorin yet drew breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, if it's italicized it's elvish. Bold is khuzdul. 
> 
> I love book Legolas with a deep passion, and I was surprised when they made him so serious in the movie. I really disliked what they did to him in the last hobbit film, so I'm doing a LOTR book and movie mash to make his characterization.
> 
> I love Lee Pace's portrayal of Thranduil. He captured just how irritating he was, and does it in a way that you can't help but love even as you hate.


	15. Chapter 15

Thorin could not figure out how this madness had come to pass. He could see shock on the face of the dwarrows he counted closest, but little comfort could be found in such thing.

At least his friends and kin had not betrayed him as well. 

“Bilbo has no magic, you know this. He is the one that I have burned for.  _ I _ gifted him the bead _._ _ I _ crafted the braid.” He could hardly draw in any air, and it made the panic thrumming under his skin all the more insistent.

This should not be done here. Not in front of elves.

“Because he bewitched you!” Bilbo tried to speak, but he only coughed. It was a fragile sound and made desperation surge fiercely through him. He made another step forward, his arm reaching desperately forward.

“He did no such thing!” He bellowed the words and stopped himself from saying anything further. Rage was making him foolish. He had to regain control of his tongue and mind. “He has betrayed no one. He is loyal, honorable, and willing to die for me.” He sucked in a shaky breath that did nothing to relieve the ache of fire in his lungs. “Or do you not notice he is not fighting you?”

Thrain glared all the harder. “He at least has the sense to know he is beaten.”

He could think of no reply, no way to make his father see. His mother would have known how to get through to him. His eyes were locked on Bilbo’s gasping face and the thick fingers of his father that were locked around his throat and both sights robbed his throat of words and his mind of thoughts that were not the hot rush of panic.

“You cannot harm him. Not in my kingdom. He is under  _ my _ protection.” Thranduil stood taller as he spoke, his eyes lighting with an ancient gleam. The trees seemed to grow brighter, and Thorin was certain the limbs overhead creaked menacingly. The air grew thicker, harder to breathe for anyone that was not an elf. “Do not think you can defeat me here. I have lived thousands of years. I have watched kingdoms pass unto dust and kings fall. Is it magic you fear, King? Then magic you  _ will _ see if the hobbit comes to harm.”

Thorin’s heart, to his shame, thumped in shock. He had never seen the elf as a true king, as one of the eldar, a warrior. The elves of Mirkwood were not so high as their kin in Rivendell and Lothlorien, but the blood of nobles ran through Thranduil. For the first time Thorin had known him, that was evident. 

Thrain showed no obvious care at the threat. “You will risk war to deprive me of my rights?”

“I will welcome it to protect my kingdom.”

All the shock evaporated to once more be replaced with disgust. The coward had no care for Bilbo at all-he probably did not remember his name-he feared Gandalf’s rage. 

Which was something his father was clearly not thinking of.

“Father!” He called, regaining the attention. He stood straight and put on a mask of utter indifference. It was not time for brute strength, not while his father had the upperhand. Not while war and Bilbo’s life were on the line. He would have to use words. It was not the first time he had used them in replace of an axe. He would have to wield them with just as much care. “What will relieve you of these suspicions?”

“The hobbit’s death.”

“That is unacceptable. He is the ward of Gandalf, and has allies from here to Ered Luin. We cannot afford to bring him to harm.” Thrain’s eyes narrowed as he spoke. They regarded him with utter frankness, taking in his stance and expression with years of knowledge. “Will you allow for him to be examined? If he possess magic, it will show.”

“Who would examine him? King Thranduil? I’ll not trust anyone here.”

“Send for another, one who does not know our dilemma. Perhaps Radagast would suit our needs?” Thrain took half a step back, pulling Bilbo with him. His hobbit’s feet planted firmly on the ground and he took in a bit of a breath.

“Radagast is loyal to Gandalf, and Bilbo by extension.”

“Do not tell him why you are having him tested. Simply tell him that you fear the men cast something vile on him during the abduction. Have him test for any signs of magic.”

Thrain turned his gaze back on Bilbo. “And if he has magic?”

“Then release him to Gandalf,” he paused, his throat sore and eyes oddly hot, “and I shall never again look upon him.”

“I would not have vengeance.”

He had a strong urge, in his anger and pain, to point out the Thrain would not be the one to need vengeance. It would be Thorin who would deserve vengeance, and have the right to act upon it. 

“His plans would be foiled and all would know of his treachery.” Thrain lifted his head and met Thorin’s gaze. It was hard and hateful, but willing. 

And that was all Thorin needed. “If he is without magic?”

He held Thrain’s gaze as the king answered. “Then I will stand aside.” Three of the dwarrows guarding the bridge went to the king as he spoke. Thrain released his hold on Bilbo and the guards shackled him. 

-[]-[]-[]-

“You’re father cannot kill him.” Legolas stated the words as if Thorin would actually need to hear them. He wasn’t even certain how the elf had managed to get to his room. 

Oin held no care for elf’s abrupt entrance, or his statement. He kept right on tending to the stitches on Thorin’s side and the bandages around his chest. He’d ripped them severely when the elves had incorrectly tried to grab him. Legolas’ eyes drifted over the bruises and the discoloration on his chest before meeting his gaze.

“I assure you, I will spill my own blood before I allow Bilbo any harm.” The prince had been standing right behind him when he publicly declared Bilbo his intended consort. He hadn’t exactly been subtle.

The only reason he was currently sitting on a bed and not banging on his father’s door was that Oin had forced him to his room to check his injuries and heart.

“My father will only prevent his harm so long as he fears Gandalf’s wrath. If Bilbo is taken to Erebor, he will not aid you.”

“Radagast won’t travel to Erebor. He doesn’t like mountains.” Oin spouted off as if it was common knowledge. He straightened as he spoke and picked up a bowl of foul smelling ointment. “He always makes Balin and me travel to Esgaroth for a meeting.”

When had such ‘meetings’ taken place?  Why had they taken place?

“Then we have a little time.” Legolas strode across the room until he was directly in front of Thorin’s bed. He was dressed in armor, as if he was ready for a fight. “Your father, will he honor his word?”

“To banish Bilbo or to forgive him?”

“Not to kill him.”

“I think he will do so, if Bilbo stays away. Gandalf’s presence would be useful as well.” It was nearly painful to speak in such a way. To even have cause to doubt his father. He would never have spoken of such a thing with an elf before he’d seen Bilbo dangling on the edge of a bridge.

He was not certain his father would honor his word. If he truly believed Bilbo evil, then nothing would change his mind…  And even if he did believe, would he ever honor a marriage? Was there any future where Bilbo didn’t flee to the Shire?

“Prince,” The door to the room was pushed open and Bofur rushed in with a flurry of worry, “Bifur has got-” He stopped abruptly and blinked at Legolas with wide eyes. He then looked back at Thorin and smiled stiffly. “Sorry, your highness. I’ll, um, come back later.”

“No,” Legolas took a step back and lifted a hand in an attempt to calm. “I was just making my leave. Prince Thorin and I are in agreement. I have matters of my own that need tending.”

"Bifur has been put on the guard rotation over Bilbo." Bofur said, whipping his head to face Thorin the moment the door was shut behind the elf. "He'll make certain that none of the others harm him. He's being kept in the King's room for now. He's been chained to sit at the floor in front of the bed."

His fingers were clenched at his side in anger. He had to stare straight ahead while he attempted to master it. He could imagine it perfectly in his head, and the image could not be gotten rid of. Bilbo hunched over and curled into as tight a ball as he could manage. His hands and feet would be chained, and hopefully that was connected to the bed. He knew his father though and the king would not settle for anything less than utter humiliation. He would probably have a collar around his neck as though he were nothing more than a dog.

Oin tugged the bandage around his chest tighter, drawing his thoughts away with a hiss. The healer met his gaze and gave his head a small shake.

_ Don't think about it. It won't help. _

The healer was correct, as always. He stood up smoothly and set all his materials to the side table before dusting off his hands and taking up a small pot of herbs. "What will you have us do, Sire? You have but to ask for anything."

"I trust Gandalf has been alerted?"

"Balin and Ori both sent missives to him. Legolas has also sent scouts out to search for him." 

"Balin said that Radagast would probably not be found until tomorrow. It'd take another day or two to get him here. If he's not distracted or busy." Bofur added. He looked uncomfortable and worried. He had not had time to speak privately with all his dwarrows since the captivity. They had all met Bilbo, Dwalin, Balin, and Bilbo had told him that much.

Did they approve of him? Or would their loyalty to Thorin need to be used?

He could only hope they were more loyal to him than his father.

Three sharp, quick raps sounded against the door. Bofur gave him a look that he nodded to, and the dwarf opened the door. Fili and Kili stepped inside, both looking worried.

“What is the plan, Uncle?” Kili asked, wasting no time. He made his way across the room and sat next to Thorin expectantly. 

“To find Gandalf and Radagast.” Bofur answered. Thorin fought the urge to glare at them all. He hadn’t had a chance to make anymore of a plan. He had been locked in here since the debacle. He would not be allowed to see his hobbit either. Thrain would make certain of that. They were all free to travel about.

“And in the interim?” 

He was going to get out of here first. 

Fili’s eyes were locked on his chest with a frown. He hadn’t said anything yet. He had been in the room when Thorin awoke, surely he knew the extent of the injuries.  He had not been treated kindly.

_ If I had magic, wouldn’t I heal myself? _

The words danced across his mind, along with Bilbo’s huff of annoyance. They drifted there, just out of reach, promising usefulness if he could just think. Panic refused to allow such things. 

“Take this.” The pot Oin had been tending was thrust under his nose. He didn’t know what all was in it, but he recognized one scent. Willowbark.

“No.” It invariably made him fuzzy headed and he could not risk such. Not right now. He could bear the pain. 

“Sire-”

“No. I need to be able to think. Where is my father currently?”

“In his room with Balin and Dori.” Fili answered, finally tearing his eyes from Thorin’s chest. “He won’t let anyone else in.” He swallowed, his gaze worried. “They’ll make certain he stays safe.”

It would have to be enough. Knowing that his dwarrows would strive to keep his chosen safe.

There was nothing else they could do.

-[]-[]-[]-

He had not been permitted to see his hobbit. Expected, but infuriating. 

Everyone else in the elven kingdom was. Legolas,  _ Thranduil _ _,_ even the cook! All his dwarrows saw the hobbit, and they updated him on Bilbo’s well-being. Yet Thorin was not permitted to see him. He was not permitted to leave his room.

And his father never came to explain. He had expected to see him. He had thought he was worth enough that his father would at least attempt to reason. 

Did he think Thorin so unsteady that he would not even attempt a conversation? He had  humiliated him in front of half of Mirkwood. He had accused him of being bewitched, and practically called the one he openly claimed as his One a whore. He had even pushed Thorin into publicly claiming him. Such ‘embarrassment’ earned a talk in the least. 

Not that he cared about the humiliation. He couldn’t stop seeing his father trying to strangle Bilbo. Though he knew why his father had done such thing, and to an extent, could understand the fear, he could not forgive such a thing. He could never forget his father's blatant refusal to listen. He might never be free of the sight of his One nearly being murdered by his father's hand. 

Regardless of what happened from this point on, his life could never be the same. Even should the best occur, he would find no peace with Bilbo in Erebor. He would be terrified every moment that the madness might claim his father again. That Bilbo might die from it.

Now he was rushing down the hall with Dwalin, Balin, and Bofur tailing him. He had not been allowed out of his room for the last two days, and he was going to go as quickly as possible.

Radagast was apparently far quicker than anyone gave him credit for. He received the news in the night and made it from the south border of Mirkwood. Balin said he’d muttered something about rabbits.

The door in front of him was pushed open by two guards in ceremonial garb, and he was let into a large, circular room where three figures were standing. He ignored Thranduil, gave Legolas a grateful nod, and took in the shocking sight of the wizard.

He was dressed in robes that were brown-or might have been green. They had clearly been richly detailed at one point, but age and dirt had done away with most of the embroidery. They were ragged, with every sort of wilderness stuck in it. Bits of feather and fur, leaves and twigs, sap and dirt. His hair was twisted in the strangest shapes though he wore it straight. His hat looked like a pair of mouse ears perched on his head, and there was bird droppings streaking the right side of his head. He looked utterly insane.

“Prince or King?” The wizard asked with a tilt of his head.

“Prince Thorin Oakenshield at your service.” He bowed at the waist, pulling on the politeness he could, despite the outrageous appearance. He needed this wizard to be friend. 

The door behind him opened again and Thrain walked in, Bilbo at his side. He had a hand on the hobbit’s shoulder, but there were no chains. The bruise on his throat was dark and angry, and Thorin had to work to drag his eyes up to Bilbo’s face.

He was smiling. His eyes were locked on Thorin’s face, and he was  _ smiling _ _._ It shot through him with the force of a good shot of ale. Warming him for a glorious moment before he managed to regain himself.

“Radagast,” Thrain said with a nod, “here is the hobbit. We have asked that you examine him for possession of magic.”

“Magic?” Radagast’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “Gandalf never said he had magic. Neither did you, for that matter.”

“That’s not exactly easy to bring up in public.” Bilbo said with an easy smile. He stepped towards Radagast, shrugging Thrain’s hand off his shoulder. “The truth is that I was captured, and they’re worried it might have gone bad.”

“Captured?” Radagast shuffled towards him, curled boots scuffing the floor. He placed his hand on Bilbo’s head as if checking for a fever, and Thorin felt jealous that he should be allowed such. There was an easiness between that Thorin envied as well. Other races were never so easy with dwarrows, nor were they so easy with them.

“Horribly. Gandalf told me not to wander off, I did, and a group of men grabbed me. They were convinced I had magic.” Radagast’s hands traveled over Bilbo’s shoulders as he spoke. He murmured quenya under his breath, words that sounded like ‘show magic’s touch.’ He continued to murmur, turning Bilbo around as he did so. Bilbo’s eyes instantly found his, a quiet certainty in them. One that made everything with in him seem to settle. He stared back, trusting the certainty and allowing hope to bloom in his chest.

Bilbo was abruptly turned back around to face the wizard. “There is magic.” Radagast stated with a frown and furrow of his thick brows. He leaned closer, his beard nearly brushing Bilbo. The hobbit’s eyes went wide, before terror filled them. It made the hope evaporate, and every inch of Thorin’s body ache. Ache to reach out, to wrap the hobbit in his arms. Bilbo was  _ strong _ he had faced down his captors in prison, he had not feared anything. He had never even willingly shed a tear. He should never look so afraid.

“Shekal.”* Thrain growled lowly, his voice dark and cold as ice. It made the room feel colder, unsafe. Thorin took a step forward at the mere sound of it. He placed himself between it and Bilbo, to protect his hobbit from his  _ father. _ “Zu afer dashtu?”

“Ada,” He warned, his voice sharp and insistent. Something wasn’t right. It had to be -

“No.” Radgast said, shaking his head in annoyance and flapping his hand at Thrain and Thorin to shush them. “There is magic  on him. He doesn’t have it. He’s had a spell put on him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Coward. You would betray my son?”


	16. Chapter 16

“Surely it was Gandalf’s doing?” Bilbo said with a frown. Thorin burned to see his face but did not move. He met Thrain’s glare head on, shocked by how much the dwarf did not feel like his father in that moment. 

Bilbo had been cursed? None of the men had seemed to posses magic. Why would they not simply have enchanted him if they did? 

“No, it’s not Gandalf’s touch. I don’t…” The wizard paused with a huff. "It’s dark, whatever it was. Dark and powerful.”

“Dol Guldur.” He spoke at the same time as Bilbo, and the air in the room noticeably dropped. His breath fogged in the air and he watched as Thranduil’s nostrils flared with dislike. Legolas looked mildly alarmed. 

And for a moment, the world simply stopped.

Bilbo had been  _ cursed _ .  The hobbit with eyes far too bright for the darkness of Dol Guldur had been cursed there. Before or after Thorin’s arrival? Had it simply been the evil of the dungeon, or one of the men? What could the spell be-

His body went shockingly numb as another thought sprang up, unbidden, in his mind. One crystal clear, utterly horrible, thought. 

Perhaps Bilbo had been ensorcelled. Perhaps it had been Thorin who they intended to use to get at Bilbo. It would not be ludicrous to imagine someone wishing such a thing. Gandalf was the second most powerful wizard in Middle Earth. He was ancient as time, and ally to all the most powerful beings of Middle Earth. He had also proved unquestionable dedication to Bilbo. According to Legolas, he had very nearly hexed Thranduil for simply delaying him. 

Was it a lie? Every word, every touch, every thought? Had none of it truly been Bilbo’s heart? It was enough to make him nearly vomit. He had never felt so ill to his stomach, or horrified with himself. 

“Why on earth do you mention that dark place?” Radagast’s voice, steady and quiet, seemed to blast through Thorin’s head. He took a long moment to decipher the words through the numbness spreading across his body. 

“Because,” and now he turned to face Radagast. Bilbo looked sickly and scared and Thorin wanted to run away, “that is where we were imprisoned.”

“Examine him.” Balin said the words, a little desperate. He stepped towards Radagast as he spoke, his hands clasped pleadingly in front of him. 

“Prince Thorin? You were captured as well?”

“I am the reason he was captured. They intended Bilbo to cast a spell on me.” But they might have lied. The leader had known his heart… Had he cursed Bilbo’s? Thorin might have rathered his own heart had been cursed. Bilbo would be easy to love and he did not doubt his own heart would have eventually fallen for the hobbit regardless. 

But Bilbo’s might not have.

“Did they?” Radagast’s eyes fell on Thrain, and then Thranduil. He looked displeased. “Where is Gandalf? He should do this. He has more experience with the magic of men, elves, and dwarrows.”

“He is at Dol Guldur. He wanted to make sure they didn’t awake anything.” Bilbo answered with a significant look. Thorin took a half step forward so he was at Bilbo’s side. He wanted to touch, had imagined doing so endlessly before he entered the room, but now he could not. 

Gandalf had not been present for Bilbo’s arrival. He had seen Thorin, and aided in his healing. That was why he had never doubted Bilbo. Gandalf would have noticed such a curse on him instantly. 

“He went alone?” Radagast passed his staff to his other hand and leaned in, his eyes narrowed with distaste. 

“He could not be dissuaded.” As if any of them could stop the wizard. 

“I should take you to Rivendell. Lord Elrond would see that any evil was properly removed.” He pressed his hand to Thorin’s forehead as he spoke, and a strange warmth spread over him, battling the chill or numbness. It was as soft and soothing as sitting in front of a fire with a fur wrapped around his shoulders. The warmth continued to spread through him as Radagast mumbled spells.

“I see no magical taint. You have not been afflicted with any spells.” His eyes turned back on Bilbo, worried in a way that Thorin could all too easily identify with.

“Indeed?” It was Thrain who spoke now, and the utter shock in his voice made Thorin feel fury deep in his heart. At his side, Bilbo took his hand in his own, uncaring who could see. Bilbo tangled their fingers together, a little of the alarm in his eyes evaporating at the touch.

Thorin’s heart faltered in his chest, horror and longing mingling to push away the lingering warmth of Radagast’s spell. 

“Yes. Unless the castor was more powerful than Galadriel.”

“Would you know such a being?” Radagast met the king’s gaze over Bilbo’s head. 

“The very air would crackle around them.”

“We would not have escaped the fortress either.”

“You managed to escape?” Radagast seemed very interested in that fact. He noticed their clasped hands, and his eyes widened before shooting up to meet Bilbo’s once more. He gave his head a small nod, his gaze sad. “Right. Where can the three of us speak in private?”

“ _ Private ? _ ” Thranduil was either incapable of hiding his irritation, or didn’t want to.

“Yes. Private.”

“If you will follow me.” Legolas stepped forward with an easy smile and beckoned to the door with a sweep of his hand. 

Thrain took an aborted step forward with a dark glower. “Why do you wish to speak alone?”

“Because you need to ask me.” The wizard snapped, and regardless of how funny he looked, he could be seen as nothing but terrifying. Magic, for one moment, was revealed in him, along with the fact that he was not a true resident of Middle Earth. He belonged in Valinor. “Now Lead the way, Greenleaf.” 

They were taken to a much smaller room. One that had a fire and chairs. A servant brought in a tray of refreshments which was deposited on a table, and then he left with Legolas.

“What have I not been told?”

“Quite a bit.” Was Bilbo’s wry reply. He hadn’t let go of Thorin’s hand and he used that to pull him to two chairs that were next to each other. Thorin allowed himself to be tugged. They settled in their chairs under Radagast’s speculative gaze and Thorin pulled the food closer. Bilbo took it gratefully. 

“You both are rather cozy.” He scratched absently at his nose and then sat down. Thorin had the distinct impression that the wizard’s cloak squeaked.  

“Nearly four months ago, I was captured on my way back to Erebor. My dwarrows were slaughtered where they stood, and I was bound. They took me to Dol Guldur-though I did not know that at the time-and imprisoned me. That is when I met Bilbo.”

“I’d been captured a while earlier. They didn’t tell me their plans until after I met Thorin. They thought I had magic and wanted to use it to make Thorin a… well, a slave. They wanted me to ensorcel him.”

“Dwarrows love only once, I would have done anything to ensure his safety, and they counted on that.”

“We decided to escape. Once they learned I had no magic they would dispose of me and find someone who could really cast a spell on him.” The hand in his tightened its grip. 

“We tricked the guards and managed to flee the fortress. That was the first we realized where we were.”

“Did you notice anyone trying to cast something on you?”

“No. They tortured me and questioned me, but I never noticed any magic.”

Radagast gave his head a quick nod. “Right. Continue.”

“We fled the forest and continued to the brown lands where we secured a pony and realized the men were hunting us. We avoided them by traveling along the edge of Mirkwood. We made it to Esgaroth before the Master betrayed us.” He turned his head to face Bilbo, painfully aware of each mark on the hobbit’s face, on his throat. Of the curls that hung by his left ear and how they were torn. “I confessed my admiration and affection before they found us, and sent Bilbo to Erebor with my bead. The men took me once more and dragged me to Mirkwood. Prince Legolas assisted in my rescue and granted me leave to stay here while I healed.”

“Meanwhile I ran to Dale. I found King Bard and King Thrain and told them what had passed. He…”

“Oh,” Radagast blurted. They looked at him and found that his eyes were wide and his mouth was open. “He didn’t want to know if you’d been cursed, did he? He wanted me to prove you had magic and that you had ensorceled Thorin!”

“Essentially.” 

“Which is why I must thank you for informing him such was  _ not _ the case.” He paused, and fiddled with a piece of bread. The memories it brought made Thorin long for privacy so he could think. Bilbo’s hand was warm in his, but felt so frail. As if it would take very little to break.

“Can you tell of what sort the magic on him is?” The words were quiet, far too quiet to not reveal his fears.

“I am afraid I cannot. It seems like a mark almost. I need Gandalf.” He tugged a pipe from his pocket and rubbed the tip nervously before tapping a bit of some brown leaf into it. “He knows how to decipher spells.”

Bilbo was staring at him, but the gaze was ignored easily enough.

He had never even paused to consider that Bilbo might be bewitched. He had simply known his own heart and understood he was not ensorcelled. He was no better than Eöl*. 

The thought made him pull his hand from Bilbo’s. Other races did not consider relationships between males to be acceptable. Elves and Men had been known to occasionally indulge, but they were not nearly so accepting as Dwarrows in such things. How did Hobbits handle such things? Had Thorin partaken in something that would not only take advantage, but would actually disgust?

“Radagast?” Bilbo said suddenly, turning his head and staring at the wizard. It startled the Maiar enough that he jumped.

“Yes?”

“Would you mind going to my chambers and fetching my journal? You know the one. I have several things I’d like to jot down before they become fuzzy, and I haven’t had the chance.”

“The red-leather one?” Radagast rose from his chair, leaving a few twigs and feathers behind. Bilbo nodded his head, an innocent smile on his lips and an eagerness in his eyes.

“Yes please.” 

“Of course. I’ll be right back.” The wizard shuffled away and left with a nod at the elves guarding the hall. The door clicked shut and Bilbo turned in his chair to look at Thorin expectantly. 

Thorin pushed his chair away from the table and stepped towards the back wall. The room was windowless, but he did not care. He did not need it for appearance. There was no point in pretending, Bilbo would know why he walked away.

“Thorin?”

He could say nothing for a moment and simply stared at the wall with his hands clasped behind his back. His thoughts were clear but his words seemed tangled and useless. 

“You know, I’d imagined this moment rather differently.” The words were spoken right behind him, and his heart jumped in surprise. He turned to see Bilbo standing in front of him, having silently gotten out of the chair and crossed the floor.

“Indeed?”

“I imagined a bit more kissing. Perhaps even use of the table or wall.” Was the wry reply. Bilbo tilted his head and studied Thorin with green eyes that were seeing a bit too much. “What happened? Is it the magic?”

“How do we know you have not been ensorcelled?” The words were harsh, nearly growled but Bilbo did not flinch. His eyes widened slightly but he did not flinch. His head slowly straightened and he gave his head a small shake. 

“The magic on me? The dark magic? Would ensorcelling be considered dark?” He paused but continued before Thorin could answer. “Of course it would. You’re forcing someone to feel for you-robbing them of their free will.” He gave his head a little shake and peered up at Thorin. “I haven’t been ensorcelled.”

“How can you be certain?”

“Because I highly doubt that ensorcelling would be painful.” Bilbo stated blandly, unblinking and intent on Thorin’s face. The words made little sense.

“Painful?”

“Yes. When you hear of the enchanted they’re typically happy. They know nothing but the one they love. It isn’t until the spell is broken that anything negative slips in. Occasionally you’ll hear about jealousy, of course, but that is the only thing. They don’t feel the pain of longing.”

The hobbit took a decisive step forward so that his toes brushed against the tips of Thorin’s boots. It occurred to him, staring at Bilbo, that he might know he wasn’t ensorcelled for the same reason Thorin had never thought himself ensorcelled.

Because he could think about it. He  _ could _ doubt. 

Bilbo kissed him then, his slimmer arms went around Thorin’s neck and his warm body pressed against his own until there was no space to be had. Something deep in his chest seemed to light on fire, and the heat of it exploded outwards until he could feel it sparking along every nerve. His arms wrapped Bilbo up close and near, and he held on with a desperation that was nearly wild.

The rest of the world was distant and forgettable in the wake of what was in his arms. In the wake of the warmth and necessity of Bilbo pressing up against him.

When Bilbo finally pulled away for air, far sooner than Thorin would have liked, he didn’t let him go. He kept his arms firmly around Bilbo and met his gaze unflinchingly. 

Bilbo’s hand dragged through his hair, his thin fingers tangling around the locks there until a section of them was pulled free from the rest. “Now, I do not speak the language of braids.” He said quite calmly. He split the section into seven strands and met Thorin’s gaze for the briefest second. “But I would have to be deaf and blind to have not caught the significance in this one.” He wove three of the seven into one braid, and three into another, leaving one between. 

“It represents the seven dwarf lords and their mates. You are the braid on the right, I would be the one on the left.” He pulled part of Bilbo’s hair free as he spoke, following along with Bilbo. “The strand in the middle represents Durin himself.”

He felt no wariness in making the braid. Whatever their lot, he knew it was Bilbo to whom his braid belonged. They had both gone through far more than they should have to simply reach  that point. To simply be allowed to weave the braid. 

And they had been forced to do most of it in front of  elves .

“Why is he not joined in the first part?”

“Because he was not sent to Middle Earth with a spouse. He went searching for his.” He looped the three strands on the left into a circle and wove the right through it while Bilbo mimicked him. “It shows that some find their spouses from the first, others must wait. The knot is our meeting. The burning.”

“Burning?” Bilbo murmured. His fingers looped the strands steadily and tugged it tight so it would not be separated. 

“The sign of Mahal. We feel it deep in our chest and it burns through us to mark that we have found our Sanzeuh-our One. That we have fallen in love.”

“Then all seven are woven together?”

“Yes. In this we show that we no longer continue alone. We continue together as one. Joined so that none can tear us asunder.” It was difficult to weave Bilbo’s hair. The curls did not wish to separate, and several were badly torn from his father’s cruelty. Still, he managed to coax them into the sacred braid without pulling or causing Bilbo pain. 

“The bead?” He held Bilbo’s braid together with one hand and freed his bead from the back of his head with the other. He managed not to pull any hair that time, and the bead was easily unclasped.

“Is the last symbol. You would give me one of yours, and I would give you one of mine. Yours would be clasped at the top of your braid, mine at the bottom. Sealing us with our family and line.”

“Then I’ll have to get a pair of beads.” Bilbo said thoughtfully. Thorin reached to unclasp one of the green beads-his mother’s bead-from his beard but Bilbo’s soft hand stopped him. The hobbit smiled broadly and reached into his pocket to pass Thorin the bead his father had stolen.

“How,” his voice caught and he had to swallow as he took the bead up once more, “how came you by this?”

Bilbo's smile was radiant as the sun. "I'm a burglar. Remember?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *A dark elf (Who knew Khuzdul) and enchanted the forest he called home so that the beautiful elf Aredhel could not find her way out. They get married, have a kid, and she escapes. Rather a dark story in the Silmarillion.


	17. Chapter 17

Radagast came back into to find them sitting comfortably next to each other while nibbling on the bread. He made no mention of the braids, and they didn’t either.

If there was any fairness to be had, they would have been allowed to go to their chamber and be alone together, but there was none. Thorin had long since given up on luck.

“He is mad.”

“Furious certainly.” Balin said in a tiered manner, disappointment evident in his eyes.

“No, he is  _ mad _ . He sees enemies where there are none.” Thorin growled back, furious beyond reason. He was imprisoned in his room again and Bilbo was imprisoned in his own chambers.

Thrain would still not leave them be. 

“He fears for you.”

“And yet he won’t speak to me.” Dwalin huffed at his spot by the door and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Well you didn’t help your case with the braids.”

“That was Bilbo’s doing.” And should not have mattered. He wanted to speak with his father, not about Bilbo.

Balin’s eyes widened and he sat straighter in his chair. “Indeed? He knew how-”

“He figured it out when my father ripped it from his head.” Bilbo had attempted to prove to Thorin that he was not ensorcelled with the act. It had not been his hobbit’s intention to infuriate Thrain further. What could he do with such anger? He could hold no hope now. There would be no future for his hobbit in Erebor. To return to his kingdom would mean returning without Bilbo. The thought made him swallow thickly and try not to feel.

Dwalin cringed at that and shook his head. “What’s your plan, lad?”

“I do not know. I cannot simply go back and live as I once did. Not after this.” He had been captured, forced to stay locked up while others were tortured. He had been robbed of his sacred artifacts and made to starve if he did not beg. He had found a companion in one person, and had been capable of escaping with that person’s aid. He had traveled through a cursed land, hunted and injured. He had ridden endlessly, tiredly, and in utter fear of being captured. He had tasted freedom only to be betrayed by those he counted as loyal. He had bidden goodbye to his companion, trusting his family to keep him safe while he sacrificed his freedom for a chance at victory. He had been rescued by an  _ elf , _ and nearly cursed by an angry wizard.

Then his father had imprisoned him in this accursed palace and tried to murder his companion. He had yet to take the time to simply speak with Thorin, and did not take the slightest care for his well being. 

He had been betrayed and abandoned and Erebor would never again hold the solace she once had. The rest and peace he had known in her quiet halls would not be the same.

And it was becoming clearer with each passing minute that his father had no intention of keeping his word. He would not step aside and allow a courtship with Bilbo. How could he try and lead a people when the king would not keep his word?

Three quick raps sounded on the door and Balin stood up as Dwalin stepped back and pulled the door open. Nori stood in front of it, a cloak pulled low over his head. His brothers stood on his other sides, both cloaked as well. 

“About time.” Dwalin muttered while Balin joined him. They stepped outside while Nori took one step to the right, in front of Dori. A small cloaked figure stood a foot behind where Nori had been, his large feet peeking out from under the green of his cloak.

Thorin’s heart thumped and he found himself turning to face the dwarrows and hobbit. Nori bowed while Bilbo stepped into the room. “We shall see you later, Sire. After dinner.” Then the door was closed.

He walked up slowly, watching as Bilbo watched him. The hobbit pushed his hood back as he stepped across the floor and for a heavy moment, they simply stared at each other. Then Thorin reached for Bilbo’s cheek and Bilbo’s hand landed on his hip. 

It was a bad idea. A very bad idea. He had learned in the last days that Bilbo had a large part of his heart. He should not risk giving him more of it. Not when he wasn’t certain Bilbo would be forced far away from him. 

Yet… He had promised himself in prison not to get close and that had worked splendidly. 

He was seeing it wrong. If this, these stolen moments in Mirkwood of all places, was all he would ever have, then he would take them. Naively perhaps, but he would take them. 

He had up to this point and did not regret it.

The kiss was as fire fulled and passionate as their first demanding kiss had been. Breathing was forgotten, consequences as well. He licked into Bilbo’s mouth, tasting the hobbit’s moan as he pressed to get closer. He could feel the hobbit’s grin against his lips, and the resulting nip of the smile. He growled softly, a fierce ache that might have been joy rising under his heart. His fingers tangled in Bilbo’s soft, wild curls and he nipped at Bilbo’s lips in retaliation. 

It was the easiest thing in the world to use his height to his advantage. The wall  was nearer than the table, and perfect for pressing hobbits against. They broke apart with a murmured ‘ooph’ from Bilbo as his back pressed into the wall. Thorin loomed even closer, shockingly aware that Bilbo with his clever, burglar fingers, had managed to untie his tunic and it now hung open. The hobbit’s warm hand spread across his chest, scratching at his skin and gliding over the edge of his scars. His own hands felt unsteady on Bilbo’s buttoned shirt, and he could not hold in a low groan when Bilbo found his nipples.

He pressed closer, shocked at himself and the desire thundering under his skin. “Bilbo,” he spoke into the hobbit’s skin, inhaling the scent of him as his hands tugged the shirt open. 

“Hoped you’d be open to this.” Bilbo managed with gratifying difficulty. Thorin’s hand dropped lower to Bilbo’s waist, fiddling with the leather that held the hobbit’s breeches up. It felt tricky to untie, though his mind was not too sharp in that moment. Bilbo had often robbed him of thought, but there was nothing like trying to work through the fog of desire.

“I have desired you for many long nights.” He returned, pulling at the leather. Bilbo found the clasp to Thorin’s belt and managed it far more successfully than Thorin was managing. 

“Hobbit’s are usually rather prudish about this sort of thing. We take our courtships slowly but I feel like I’ve waited forever.” The belt fell to the floor with a clatter and Thorin found it far easier to breathe with its eviction.

“Aside from braiding, I have not kept a single act of dwarrow courtship.” Thorin stated before dipping his head and biting at the tempting flesh of Bilbo’s clavicle. He was careful to avoid the bruises that decorated the hobbit’s neck. He was rewarded a beautiful cry and the slight sting of Bilbo’s nails digging into his arms as the hobbit’s hips bucked against his hand. 

He tore the leather strip and pushed the breeches open. 

“Really? I-oh!-had no idea.” Bilbo’s left hand grabbed the back of his head and pressed him closer to the hobbit’s neck, urging him on.

“We are to present our chosen with a gift and the best of ourselves. I simply asked.” Horribly assuming by dwarf standards. He had worked with a lack of time for the most part. At Mirkwood, it had simply been a fear of losing Bilbo that had urged him on. He had woken to find the hobbit near, and neither of them actually captured. 

“I rather like how you went about it.” Thorin urged Bilbo’s legs apart and pressed his thigh between them, pressing up and earning a hiss of pleasure from Bilbo as he rubbed against his cock. It was shocking to so clearly feel the hobbit’s desire, and thrilling to know that he was permitted-encouraged-to do something about it. His lips traveled softly up Bilbo’s neck, pausing to bite at the spot where his jaw formed. “Horrible manners, but wonderful heart.” He grabbed hold of Bilbo’s lobe for that, and tugged.

He was, perhaps, acting partly in fear. He did not want to lose Bilbo and was trying to press all that he could into his memory. The taste, the smell, the warmth, every sound and the feel of every breath. He could practically hear a clock ticking in his mind. A constant reminder that there was not much time left for them. Thrain would not allow there to be. He could give the braid and bead because no other would ever have it, but he could not keep Bilbo. The hobbit would be lost soon, and he could not bear to leave without letting Bilbo know how highly Thorin valued him. 

After all, Dwarrows loved romantically only once, and they loved with their whole hearts. Not lightly did they act on such things.

Not lightly did he.

Bilbo’s hand ran up his chest, scraping his nipple and drawing a shudder and moan from deep in Thorin’s throat. A sound the hobbit apparently liked for the way he pressed closer to Thorin in return.

His hands found their way to Bilbo’s rear, a feature of his hobbit he had long admired. His burglar shuddered as he squeezed, and bucked all the harder against his thigh with a broken moan. He moved up to capture the sound with lips, tasting the hobbit’s passion. 

“Thorin,” Bilbo murmured, sounding as if he had something he wished to say. Thorin tilted his head back just enough to hear. “Thorin I-” He cut off abruptly, his eyes wide, and it took Thorin several breaths to focus enough to know why.

Someone was knocking at the door.

Bilbo muttered a quiet and colorful elven curse. His hand released Thorin’s hair and found its way to his pocket while Thorin was unceremoniously pushed back.

“Bil-” he started, but was stopped with a warm finger pressed against his lip while Bilbo kicked the clothes towards the bed and wrestled his ring from his pocket. “They were guarding the hall. There’s only one they’d let through.”

It was Thorin’s turn to curse. He stooped down to lift his tunic from the ground while Bilbo vanished. The clothes were tossed under the bed while he went to the door. 

Thrain stood on the other side, solemn and tired looking. “Sire.” Thorin dipped his head with respect, but remained in front of the door. He could not see what Bilbo was doing, but he would give him all the time he could.

“Might we speak, son?” He held still a moment longer before stepping back and pulling the door fully open. He extended one arm in a sweeping motion to indicate that Thrain could enter.

“As you wish, Sire.” Thrain strode into the room while Thorin took a moment to survey his room. There was no evidence of discarded clothes or a hiding hobbit. 

Thrain took a seat at the table and watched Thorin until he also took a seat. 

“I fear I have done wrong that cannot be mended, my son.”

Thorin made no reply. He could not think of anything to say that would not potentially make matters worse. He could not believe his father was there to apologize, not until he heard it with his own ears. 

“I have treated a hero as less than a prisoner. I have treated the one you chose as though he were worth less than the men who captured you.” He gave his head a tired shake, though his expression was still undecipherable. 

“You no longer believe Bilbo to be a spell-caster, your Majesty?” He kept his tone carefully neutral, and left his hands clenched in his lap where his father would not see them. The use of the formal titles was apparently painful to Thrain. He cringed noticeably. 

If his father thought his treatment of Bilbo was the only problem, then he did not truly deserve the title of father. For he did not know his son. 

“I must accept what facts are given to me. Radagast has declared him free of magical ability. Only that he himself has been tainted.” Thrain stood swiftly and suddenly, a grim expression taking his face. He turned to walk towards the window at the far side of the room, his hands clasped behind his back. “I sought to keep you safe, my son.”

“You sought to keep me imprisoned.” He replied mildly. Anger was bubbling under his skin, heating his heart and making his body burn with need to rage. His father had belittled  _ him _ not only Bilbo. He had locked  _ Thorin _ up, not Bilbo until they had been seen together. He had called Thorin bewitched and refused him the simple courtesy of speaking. He had treated Thorin as though he were incompetent and stupid instead of the heir to the throne. He had yet to hear of all that Thorin had learned. Did he even realize that one of their own Dwarrows had initially betrayed him? Balin did. He had asked Thorin for every detail, and listened to whatever Thorin had to say. Dwalin, Fili, Kili, the brothers Ri, Bofur, Bombur, and even Bifur had asked. They had sought him out repeatedly, often sneaking into speak. Gloin had stayed away only so that he could keep his gaze on Bilbo. Oin had asked where each injury was obtained, and what he had been eating to have lost so much weight. 

They had all noticed the changes. They had all mourned the lost with him. They had seen  _ him _ , and not just his care for the hobbit. 

His father probably did not know he had suffered a collapsed lung and two stab wounds. He would not care that Thorin would close his eyes and see the slewn bodies of his guard while he was tied uselessly and unallowed to defend them. 

Did his father know what it was to be rendered useless and forced to watch those you counted as friends, shield-brothers, slaughtered as they tried to protect you? Their bodies had been left there to rot. Legolas stated that they had been found and returned to Erebor, but they had been treated with less respect than a wild dog would be given. 

It was too much to remain sitting. He would snap the arms of the chair he was sitting in at this rate. He stood up stiffly and hoped that Bilbo remained hidden. 

“It was you who would not listen!” Thrain snapped, turning partially towards Thorin before catching himself. He glared at the window once more, to proud to seek Thorin’s gaze. “If you would have spared a thought for anything but the hobbit, you would have realized what it appeared as!”

“Perhaps it did not occur to me because I knew Bilbo did not possess magic. No hobbit ever has.”

“How could I know such things?”

“You could have asked! Wouldn’t he have healed himself? He certainly wouldn’t have allowed us to be recaptured. It put his supposed ‘plan’ at risk. He had only to return to Erebor with me and it would have worked as you thought.”

“He could not see that he had bewitched the greatest jewel in Erebor!  _ Ghivasheluh _ .*”

“He had not bewitched it!” He bellowed the response before he fully took the time to understand what the words had been. He paused in considering them, something twisting in his chest at the way they were spoken. There was a wild look in his father’s eyes, feral and demanding. It made him want to take a step back.

The greatest jewel? His father’s treasure of treasures? Thrain spoke as if he were some item to be hoarded. Something that belonged to the King. To Thrain. The greed in the King’s gaze was undeniable.

Thorin was the prince, and Thrain’s son, but he was not some jewel to be collected. He belonged to none but himself. He had a free will and a free spirit. 

Thrain was breathing heavily. He took a step towards Thorin, and he could not help but take a step back from the king. He had never heard his father speak in such a manner before, and he had certainly never seen him look so gone. “You are my treasure, Thorin. Mine to protect.”

“And yet you did not see that I was safe. That I had been protected. You simply imprisoned me. As though I were a gem to be locked away in a chest.” He kept the table between them, horrified by the greed that glinted in his father’s eyes. He hardly recognized him, his face was so distorted. He did not want to think what his father would do if he learned of Bilbo’s presence.

“You recoil?”

“I would rather not be locked up again.”

Thrain seemed to suddenly deflate. His shoulders slumped and he stooped over, the terrible need vanished from his eyes to be replaced with horror and realization. He took a step back, dropping the hands he had extended towards Thorin. “You are right my son. I did not see and would not look. I treated you as less than a son. For that, I am sorry.” He straightened, and without looking back at Thorin, headed towards the door. 

He paused with his hand on the door. His head tilted towards Thorin, though his gaze was on the floor. “Things will not be as they once were, will they?” 

“I fear they cannot be, sire.” That was the one promise of time. Things never remained as they were. 

He would never forget the way his father had just looked at him. He would not forget the marks on Bilbo’s neck or the anger in his father’s voice. He did not know what could be done now.

“I am sorry.” With those last, quiet words, the door was once more shut. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Ghivasheluh = My Treasure of all Treasures.


	18. Chapter 18

“Are you here still, Bilbo?” He had been silent for many long minutes, unable to say anything else. The room seemed to echo with the noise of the door shutting behind his father. His chest was tight and it was strangely hard to breathe. He felt as if he was too large for his skin. As if it was pressing against him.

“I am.” He turned to face the hobbit, his gut twisting as he did so. He had vaguely hoped that Bilbo had not been present for what had just transpired. That anyone would see his father speak to him in such a manner… That they would see his father with that terrible gleam in his eyes. 

Bilbo was standing with one hand resting on the bed and his foot nervously rubbing the back of his other leg. He had pulled his shirt back on at some point and attempted to button it. It hung partially off his shoulder, the buttons utterly mismatched. He was biting his lip and looked as if wanted to say something, though he did not know what to say. 

And what could be said?

“I have never seen that look in my father’s eyes. I had thought it died with my Grandfather.” He had been young when his grandfather died, but he could remember the fear in his father’s gaze when Thror had raged for his gold. The greed of dwarrows was over-estimated by other races. They did not understand that it was not greed that made the dwarrows mine and unearth gems and metals. It was not greed any more than it was greed that made Hobbit’s grow miles of greens. They had a love for things that grew as much as Dwarrows loved things in the stone. 

“King Thror?” 

“Yes.” He stepped towards the hobbit, hardly aware he did so. His eyes were on the top buttons of Bilbo’s shirt, and the bruises that decorated the skin there. He had initially thought that his father had overreacted in an attempt to keep him safe, but… If it was madness…

It was strange to even think such things.

Could he blame all of it on madness? Would that work? His father certainly hadn’t looked sane when he’d gone for Bilbo’s throat. He had been horribly sane when he had spoken to Thorin in the end, and when he’d brought Bilbo to Radagast. He’d simply refused to speak to Thorin in any way. Annoyingly. He also hadn’t acknowledged Thorin’s existence.

Thorin reached towards Bilbo, his hand hovering just over the wounds. He could feel the heat from his hobbit and it just added to the strange tightness in his stomach. He wanted to stroke the skin, to rub the mark of his father away or replace it with marks of his own. Marks with far more pleasant memories. Marks that would show Bilbo was under Thorin’s protection, and was not to be touched.

He was tired of being incapable of doing anything. Incapable of protecting Bilbo or simply kissing him. He had claimed the hobbit as his Sanzeuh. He had braided the shining curls and placed his bead in the golden hair. Still no one accepted that the hobbit was his.

He stepped nearer and gripped Bilbo’s hip with his other hand. Bilbo stared up at him, his brow drawn slightly together. He held Thorin’s gaze, but it was clear he was confused. Thorin did not know what he was doing either. He only knew he wanted to touch the soft skin of his hobbit and have others know that Bilbo, the beautiful, strong, creature was Thorin’s.

He was so  _ tired _ .

“Thorin.” Bilbo said nothing else, whether it was a statement or question, Thorin didn’t know. His hobbit cupped his cheeks, his eyes gleaming like emeralds in the dim light. 

“Forgive me. I find myself weary of conversation.” He pressed his head to Bilbo’s, letting the warmth of Bilbo sink into his skin while his hand finally settled on the hobbit’s shoulder, away from the bruises. His eyes slipped close and he focused on the feel of Bilbo’s breath mingling with his own. It calmed the tightness and chill. He pressed closer, not yet content with the touch. 

Bilbo’s thumbs stroked his cheeks in an endless rhythm, almost convulsively. His lips darted forward to brush against Thorin’s and then, apparently confident of their welcome, they stayed. He accepted the touch and opened his mouth when Bilbo sought entrance. He allowed Bilbo to take lead while he tried to master his heart and the want that pounded through his veins. It was strangely terrible, having Bilbo so close but not  _ having _ Bilbo. Yet the burn and ache of it was almost sweet. The pleasure would be all the greater for the denial.

“He was scared, you know.” The words were quiet, and seemed strange to Thorin’s ears. He took longer to make sense of them than he should have, and then the tightness grew worse. He felt oddly hot all over. The thumbs continued to stroke his cheeks. “It was evident.”

“He could have spoken to me. He did not need to harm you for fear.”

“Of course he didn’t.” Bilbo gave his head a little shake as if it was ludicrous to even suggest such a thing. “But during it all, it was clear he was scared. I don’t know why he didn’t speak with you. Not when he had such worry in his eyes.” He frowned, a little self-mockingly. “I recognized the worry. I felt it in my own heart.” His head dipped forward until their foreheads were pressed against each other. 

“He wishes I would deny you and the love I bear for you. I will not.”

The hobbit gaped at him for a moment. “You-you can’t just-” he worked his mouth, not really saying anything, before he darted forward for a quick kiss that was more a clang of teeth than anything. “You can’t just  say things like that! Not when I have nothing to say in return. Nothing but I love you.” 

He very nearly said ‘you need only say you will stay’ but he could not speak the words. They felt too dangerous. He could not ask him to put up with the madness of his father. “You need say nothing. As I said, I am weary of conversation.”

“There are far better things to do.” Bilbo said, nodding in agreement. Bilbo’s lips pressed against his once more, desperate and hard. The hobbit was hot and insistent. Utterly intoxicating with each roll and nip of his lips. The hands on Thorin’s face gripped tightly and held him still as Bilbo took what he wished with bold strokes of his tongue.  

He found himself being pressed back onto the bed with Bilbo climbing up in his lap. The hobbit rubbed against him like a great cat seeking warmth and affection. He settled his hands on the hobbit’s waist to hold him near, hoping that it would reassure him of the affection Thorin held for him, as well as encourage him to stay near. Bilbo’s hands were busily working at the ties on his tunic once more. They freed him of the knots so the fabric hung slightly open. Bilbo stared blatantly for a moment, then slowly lifted his eyes until they met Thorin’s.

The green eyes were frank in their appreciation, and it made Thorin feel warm in the face, and remarkably pleased.

The hobbit’s hands pressed against his chest, the fingers spreading out and covering as much area as they could. His breath hitched in his chest at the contact, and his chest jerked with surprise as the hands trailed down until they grasped the edge of his tunic. Bilbo met his gaze again and Thorin felt as if he were under a spell. The hobbit tugged the fabric up slowly, his eyes never leaving Thorin’s. His fingers brushed along Thorin’s chest and the slight contact had Thorin nearly trembling. His breathing was erratic and his heart was hammering in his chest.

“Thorin.” Bilbo breathed before tugging the tunic up over his head and off. He hadn’t even realized he’d raised his arms. The hobbit’s tempting hands dropped to Thorin’s waist, fingering the clasp there. “May I?”

“I,” he breathed only a little heavily, “am entirely, and utterly, at  your service, Bilbo.”

His burglar responded with a sunrise of a smile, which was very welcome, and slipped off of Thorin’s lap, which was not as welcome. The confusion was almost instantly cleared when Bilbo stripped himself of his tunic and his own breeches. Thorin rose as well to free himself of his own trousers and smalls. 

A moment later and he was being pushed back onto the bed by Bilbo. He laid on his back, following the hobbit’s directing hands.

Then Bilbo was once more on top of him. He had his legs thrown over Thorin’s waist and was hovering over him. The feel of Bilbo’s bare thighs over his own waist was a heady one. Novel in it’s newness, and addicting in its warmth. He was looked at for nothing more than a moment before Bilbo dropped his head to suck the skin beneath his ear and graze his lips along the bottom of the lobe. He caught his teeth on the hoop that Thorin was wearing and tugged, and Thorin very nearly bellowed.

He slipped his hands, which had been doing nothing but clutching at the blanket, up to Bilbo’s back. The skin was warm and soft under his hand, familiar from their few meetings in the garden. He took a moment to reacquaint himself with Bilbo’s shoulders and spine before he slid his hands down, relishing the muscles he could feel flexing under his hands, and cupped the hobbit’s luscious derriere. Bilbo made a very happy noise deep in his throat and pushed back into Thorin’s hands. The hobbit’s hands ran down Thorin’s chest, his nails scratching the skin and grabbing his chest hair. He tilted his head up so his lips were right next to Thorin’s ear, his eyelashes brushing against Thorin’s cheek, and he started to murmur. 

Thorin could not decipher the words through the haze of desire that swarmed around him, but the sound of Bilbo’s voice seemed to make the desire all the thicker. The hobbit’s legs hugged his hips and his chest pressed closer. Thorin could feel the hard, hot, length of him against his own desire and it made his eyes fly open with a gasp. Bilbo’s own noise was breathy and made in his ear. Enough to make Thorin clutch him all the more tightly. He dug his heels into bed and rolled his hips up against Bilbo’s. 

He wedged a hand between them and wrapped it around their erections as well as he could. He gave a long, slow pull and could hardly breathe through the sensation. He earned a shudder and a gasp from deep in Bilbo’s chest that he could feel reverberate across his body. Bilbo’s hand on his shoulder tightened, and then the tricky burglar bit his ear and it was his turn to cry out.

His left hand was taken by Bilbo and pulled away from the hobbit’s rear. It was pressed against the bed and left there for a moment before Bilbo’s hand was wrapping around three of his fingers. The hobbit’s own fingers were slick with something and the substance was rubbed onto his own fingers with quick jerks that followed the rhythm Thorin had set up on their erections. 

His hand was dragged back to Bilbo’s marvelous bottom, and it only took him a few moments to figure out what he wanted.

He had to stop stroking their erections and dig his heels into the mattress to stop himself from reaching a premature end. He distracted himself with finding Bilbo’s entrance and stroking over the skin. He repeated the motion over and over, memorizing the way it made Bilbo shiver and press back into his hand. 

“ Amarth pe-channas! ” Bilbo growled, wiggling on top of Thorin in an utterly delightful manner. “Stop teasing me, you royal prat.” He barked an unexpected laugh at the curse and title, which had Bilbo pushing up on his chest. The hobbit hovered over him, his eyes bright despite the scowl on his face. Thorin stared at him for a moment, smiling like a loon, his father and the madness utterly forgotten. Bilbo’s scowl faded away and was replaced with a soft, fond look before he lowered his head and claimed Thorin’s lip with a sucking kiss.

The kiss succeeded in Bilbo’s wishes, stealing away Thorin’s attention and control. He ceded defeat to the burglar and slid his finger in to breach the hobbit. It was a warm tightness utterly unlike anything he’d ever felt and he was helpless to stop his own hips from shifting slightly in anticipation. Bilbo made a mewling noise against his lips, wiggling backwards onto the digit. 

He continued repeating the motion and took over the kiss. He moved his free hand to tangle in Bilbo’s soft curls and worked another finger in to Bilbo’s tight entrance. The hobbit’s grip on his shoulder grew almost painfully tight and he held still for a moment in worry. Bilbo made an irritated noise against his mouth and thrust back, working himself on the two digits. The kiss broke wild and free, all teeth and tongue and heat. Bilbo was the first to moan, the first to pull back and breath. It was hot, stiflingly so, but Thorin pressed closer to Bilbo, slipping another finger in. 

He recalled his own experiments in this areas (The most recent having been fueled by images of Bilbo like this) and changed the angle of his fingers. He curled down, searching, searching…

“Aina  _ Yavanna _ !” Bilbo cried out, keening as his hips snapped against Thorin’s. It was enough to tear an undignified sound from Thorin’s own throat. He smiled and felt half wild as he watched Bilbo thrash over him. The air seemed to spark with magic (that neither possessed) as he continued to stroke the spot, working his fingers to ready his hobbit. His skin tingled with possibilities as Bilbo’s nails dug into his skin, and he couldn’t help but feel as if he was going to wake up a completely new, and forever changed, dwarf. There could be no returning to the way he was, not after this. 

He continued to work his fingers and stare up at Bilbo greedily. Every noise he managed to pull out of the hobbit he memorized and sought for more. He took deep kisses from Bilbo's lips and devoured his noises that way. It was like tasting his pleasure, and made something wild break free in Thorin’s chest. Something feral and needing, desiring. The burn that had started when he’d realized he loved Bilbo was now an inferno, blazing through his body. He did not feel as if it was physically possible to contain the amount of love he felt for Bilbo. It would consume him until there was nothing left that did not feel for him.

A hand worked into his hair, combing through the locks and scratching at his scalp before Bilbo dropped down and smashed their mouths together, teeth clacking. His other hand traced over Thorin’s chest, gliding over the scars littered their. His hair was given one last, delightful, tug, and then a hand was wrapping around his cock, coating it with oil. 

Bilbo rose up, freeing himself from Thorin’s digits and guiding Thorin’s cock to where his hand had been. He met Thorin’s eyes, green orbs dark with desire and Thorin’s hands flew to the hobbit’s hips on instinct. He was incapable of looking away as Bilbo lowered himself onto Thorin, joining them as intimately as possible. Defying all in this horrible place who would try and separate them. 

He was as hot and tight as he had been around Thorin’s fingers. He was slick from whatever oil he had found and Thorin had to dig his heels into the bed to keep from thrusting up into the hobbit. Pleasure such as he had never known surged through his body, robbing his mind of all ability to think with a harsh cry.

“Oh,” was all Bilbo managed before he pushed up shakily. The first few thrusts were clumsy, with Bilbo’s hips stuttering against Thorin’s until Thorin lifted his hips and met the hobbit’s thrust. It brought him deeper and changed the angle enough that Bilbo keened.

“Yes, that,” Bilbo panted, staring with a wild gaze that had Thorin rising up on his elbows to meet him. “keep doing that.” The order was accompanied with a kiss and both Bilbo’s hands settled on his shoulders. They found their rhythm like that. Hips rolling languidly and a little sloppily. Bilbo seemed to surround him, his hair, his scent, his warmth. 

“ _ Thorin , _ ”

And he had never heard his name spoken like that. He was helpless at the plea, the utter need and trust in the single utterance, that he could not stop from thrusting his hips up harder. Bilbo cried out more beautifully than he had yet and seemed to clutch to Thorin all the more desperately.

“Thorin, I-I can’t last if-”

“Then don’t.” He panted in return, pressing his cheek against Bilbo’s as he thrust hard again and wrapped his hand around the hobbit’s erection. It was still slick from the oil he’d used to open him up, and it was easy to set up a quick rhythm. “Come on, I have you.” He caught Bilbo’s lip on the promise, and felt Bilbo’s entire body grow still, felt his back arch and heard a deep moan utter from the hobbit’s throat, one that he could feel in his own belly.

The hot flood of pleasure that had been climbing up his spine surged in his stomach, coiling to a break tightness. He thrust up into the warmth of Bilbo, once, twice, three times more and felt his own control snap as his release threw him into unhindered pleasure. He knew not what sounds he made, only that he fell back onto the bed with Bilbo hovering over him. 

** He came back to himself long moments later, his nerves still sparking with pleasure as Bilbo stole his lips for a few languid, sensual kisses. **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little elvish used here   
> Amarth pe-channas!=Evil Idiot  
> Aina Yavanna!=Holy Yavanna


	19. Chapter 19

He did not recall falling asleep, but he woke up to morning sunlight and a soft nose brushing against his cheek. He pried his eyes open, not quite ready to meet the morning light yet. Bilbo swam before his eyes before he blinked them clear. 

The hobbit’s hair was sleep tousled and his green eyes were vibrant in the morning light. His skin was an appealing gold, thanks to the sunlight, and the white cotton of his shirt looked touchably soft.

Shirt? 

Bilbo was wearing a shirt, trousers, and his suspenders. The sight was wonderfully welcome, and horribly disappointing. He had not had nearly enough time to look his fill last night. Bilbo had been breath-taking on top of him, but he had not seen as much as he should have liked. He had not had the chance to really gorge himself on the hobbit.

“Good morning, my sleepy dwarf.” A slow kiss was pressed to his lips as a hand sifted through his hair. Clever fingers twirled around the braid in his hair, tugging lightly on the betrothal bead before releasing his hair and lips. Bilbo smiled at him, sat up, and slipped from the bed. He stretched his arms, yawned, and then padded across the floor. His thumbs hooked into his suspenders and he was humming to himself. 

“What time is it?” He sat up with a stretch as he spoke. His back felt oddly sore, and a quick inspection revealed that Bilbo’s nails had not been quite as blunt as they had appeared last evening. He stared at it for a long moment, unsure of what to do with the joy that surged in his chest at the sight. He was not even certain why he liked the sight so much.

“A bit after dawn. We slept the evening and night away. Someone brought breakfast while we slept.” Bilbo glanced over his shoulder with a smile as he spoke. “My bet is on Bifur or Dori because they left this.” He held up a flower, a pink one with fat petals that Thorin didn’t know the name of but Bilbo probably did. The hobbit looked back at the breakfast that had been put on the table, and snagged a crumpet. He set about buttering it up and continued to hum.

It was more than Thorin could take. The tip of Bilbo’s tongue poked out of his mouth while he worked on his breakfast, and Thorin suddenly realized how very much more of the hobbit he could be exploring. He slipped from the bed silently and walked towards the tempting Burglar.

“You are irritatingly fully dressed again.” He noted. Bilbo snorted and turned towards the bed before stopping. The crumpet was halfway to his mouth, but he was no longer paying attention the bread. He was openly gaping at Thorin’s very bare, and near, body.

It was satisfying to be able to distract the hobbit with his presence. Gratifying also to sneak up on him. 

“And you are not.” Bilbo managed, his crumpet still suspended in mid air. Thorin darted down and stole a bite of it. He felt strangely playful like this. 

Bilbo straightened and set the crumpet carefully aside. He stepped closer to Thorin so that his toes were brushing against Thorin’s and peered up at him with a poorly hidden smile.

“Did no one ever tell you that it is a dangerous business to steal a hobbit’s food?” 

“Indeed?” He leaned down so he was mere inches from Bilbo’s face. “And what does this hobbit intend to do?” He ran his tongue over his bottom lip, catching a few stray crumbs. He had never flirted so openly before. It felt strange to do so now, but he’d never felt so desirable before. Bilbo was staring at him like he was delectable feast the hobbit would like to devour. It was enough to make him feel powerful. 

“He might just eat you to make up for the loss.” Bilbo replied with a playful twinkle in his eyes that sent heat rushing through Thorin. Was this what it was to have a chosen when there was no drama? A strange exhilaration mixed inseparably with joy? 

“How will he know if I am palatable?” Bilbo leaned closer, challenge and happiness in his gaze and very nearly able to be tasted in the air.

“I suspect he’ll simply have to taste and see.” Their chest were touching now, and Bilbo was lifting up to his tip toes so that their faces were nearly on level. His hands gripped Thorin’s biceps and Thorin’s went to the hobbit’s shirt, determined to get at the skin underneath-

And there was a knock at the door.

Thorin pulled back with a snarled khuzdul curse that had Bilbo blinking in surprise. His skin felt too tight and his chest was hot, yet still the knock echoed around the room. Bilbo slipped two steps back, darted towards the bed, and tossed his tunic at him, followed by his trousers. He tugged both on while Bilbo went towards the door. He was too short to see through the peephole so he looked back at Thorin.

Thorin waved him on. There was no point in hiding. The dwarrows already knew that Bilbo was with him. They probably knew that they had both been naked in bed with clothes scattered about the room. By now, every dwarf in the kingdom-save his father-would know they had slept together. His dwarrows were horrible gossips. 

Bilbo slipped his hand in his pocket and tugged the door open. Nori stood behind it with an apologetic expression.

“Sorry about the early, erm, interruption? Thrain asked to take breakfast with you, Thorin. Bilbo, Radagast has a few questions for you.”

-[]-[]-[]-

He dressed formally, as he would if he was taking breakfast with a dignitary. Dori assisted him with the many pieces, and made certain that his hair was braided properly, with his numerous warrior braids, and Bilbo’s braid standing boldly out. He looked imposing and he felt as if he was readying for some sort of battle.

There seemed to be several different Thrain’s of late, he was not certain which one he would meet.

He would, of course, prefer his father. The one he had known in Erebor.

Not the father that had treated him like a jewel. He’d seen his Grandfather look at the Arkenstone with that same crazed gaze. Thrain had called him Ghivasheluh, his greatest treasure of all treasures. His  father’s . He had claimed him with look and with word. He had berated Thorin as though he were a child, and then proceeded to discredit any apology he had made.

Yet Bilbo had said Thrain had feared for Thorin. 

He hadn’t taken much time to consider his father during the captivity. Any thoughts about his father had been more of an escape. He’d often pictured Erebor and her inhabitants to soothe his thoughts. 

But his father’s reaction had not really been thought about until they were on the road. At that point it was to imagine presenting Bilbo and then telling his father of the hobbit’s deeds and watching him approve of Thorin’s choice.

Such thoughts were pointless. He shook them off and followed the dwarrows to his father. 

He was taken deep into the palace. To a dining room under the dungeons. It was surprisingly cool for the elven palace, and had no trace of sunlight. It was lit with torches, and almost felt cave like. It held none of the beauty of his home, of course, but he could almost imagine he was in one of the mines.

Thrain was the only inhabitant in the room, and his guard stood outside. Dwalin took a post at his side and gave Thorin a determined nod before opening the door and letting him into the small chamber. The table had been prepared with a breakfast or porridges, breads, and fruit.

He took the seat across from his father. 

“My son, thank you for coming. I have not earned your presence in recent days.”

“You are still my king, sire.” The response felt cold, but he could think of nothing else to say. He didn’t want to risk that look in his father’s eyes again.

Thrain had been reaching for a bowl of porridge (Thorin couldn’t help but notice that it had peaches in it. He blamed that observation on Bilbo) and froze. He held still for a long moment before lifting his eyes and meeting Thorin’s gaze. He lowered his hand and exhaled without giving anything away on his face.

“You are, of course, right. I am the king, but I wish for this meal, to be your father. I have allowed no other access to us for now. They will only interrupt us if something happens to one of our Dwarrows, or Bilbo. Short of that, or an attack, we will be alone for the next two hours. I would have us speak candidly during it. Not as King and successor, but as father and son. I attempted to apologize yesterday, and ended up declaring you an object. I meant what I said, you are, and will always be, my greatest treasure, but you are not  mine. You are not some object for me to lock away or obsess over. You are not the Arkenstone.” Thrain paused on the last work, distaste obvious in his tone. His gaze was locked on the pitcher of cream, but it was obvious that was not what he was seeing. Thorin was fairly certain he was seeing Thror with the hateful stone. 

After what felt like minutes, Thrain seemed to shake himself to awareness. He turned his gaze back on Thorin, a hauntedness now in it. “I would have you inform me if I ever make you feel like such.” He scooped some of the porridge into a bowl and poured a bit of cream over top of it before frowning at the bowl of fruit and choosing the bread. 

“I cannot undo the way I treated Bilbo. I believe I was correct to be suspicious-of that, no one will convince me otherwise-but I should not have treated him so poorly. By natural means, or bewitching, he had your heart, and that alone awarded him better treatment. I harmed him in rage, and also harmed you.” He lifted his gaze once more and held Thorin’s, unflinchingly. “I swear, from this moment until my dying breath, I will never again harm your chosen. If he betrays us, only you will be allowed to extract revenge. No other may harm him, or arrest him.”

“You would swear this?”

“On Freris.”

“Then I hear your oath and accept it.” He allowed himself to relax marginally and took up a scone. 

“Tell me about him?”

“Pardon?” He tore the bread in half as his father settled back in his seat. The king looked far more relaxed than he had bene.

“Master Baggins. Tell me about your first meeting and how you became friends. I have heard little of the story. My own fault, of course, but I should very much like to hear it now.”

He bit into the scone while he thought. There did not really seem to be a way his father could harm Bilbo with such information-not when Radagast would stop any physical harm-and his father certainly looked sincere in his interest. Perhaps the rage and madness-whatever had caused it-was passing?

Perhaps it was truly his father that sat before him?

He chewed while he thought, and when the scone was finished, and his father had not pressed him for more information, he opened his mouth and began to speak. He described the dirty child that had been tossed into the cell beside his, and quickly sprung up. He told how the child-which had actually been a hobbit- had railed at the guards and then proceeded to mourn for a wizard. 

He explained how curious he’d been, and how wary to be a friend. He told the tale, remembering every second fondly, and forgot the time as he spoke. His father asked questions, laughed at their jokes and Bilbo’s audacity, and grieved with him at the losses of his guard.

It was as if the last month had not happened. As if they had never stopped at Mirkwood. It was how he had always imagined presenting Bilbo would be. That he’d go before his father and celebrate. 

He found himself joining in with his father’s laughter, and not thinking about such a thing. 

“I should like to ask your hobbit what he knows about Thranduil.” Thrain said with a rumbling laugh. “He might be useful in future negotiations. He certainly gets on well with Legolas.”

“He would be happy to tell you.” He had heard a few stories. Bilbo was a gifted story teller. 

“Then will you send for him? I should like to apologize to him, and I will not speak to him without your presence. I have not earned such privileges.”

He did not answer right away. He looked at his father instead, boldly studying him. The crazed need was gone from his eyes, as was the anger that had so lined his face. He looked… calm. Pleading almost. He certainly felt sincere.

Bilbo would stay at his side. Dwalin would enter as well, and together they could stop Thrain. Bilbo could vanish and escape as well. They would keep him safe in such a way.

He could try. For the love he bore his father, he would try. 


	20. Chapter 20

Dwalin sent Bifur to fetch Bilbo while Thorin waited with his father. The atmosphere had taken a turn for the worse. Thrain would no longer meet his eyes, and the laughter was all but faded away.

He had seen the tense line of his father’s shoulders often enough. Usually before important meetings or battles. He had not been present when Dis had introduced her husband to Thrain. Had he reacted as badly then? Dis had never made it seem so. Frerin had never had the chance to bring anyone.

He had a strong urge to speak. To say anything that might bring some comfort to his father. 

Yet he could not. Whenever he made to open his mouth, he remembered the wounds on Bilbo’s throats and the cry he had made when he was nearly tossed. He would fear he made the wrong choice in agreeing to have Bilbo meet his father.

So he kept silent and finished his crumpet. His eyes stayed on the table top until there was a gentle rap at the door. 

He stood up to greet his chosen, and Thrain did as well. The door was pushed open and Dwalin entered first. He bowed to his king and Thorin, took two steps to the side, and bowed to Bilbo. The hobbit watched with raised eyebrows before blinking and walking into the room. He met Thorin’s eyes first, gave a soft smile, then looked to Thrain. He bowed and waited a beat before going to Thorin’s side.

“Your majesties.” He murmured politely. 

“Please,” Thrain waved his hand towards the seats at Thorin’s side, “Please, make yourself comfortable. Did you eat with Radagast?”

“It is nine o’clock. It will hardly matter either way.” Thorin stated as he pulled a chair out for his betrothed. Bilbo smiled, his eyes nervous.

“Indeed?”

“Hobbits require six or seven meals a day. It is time for second breakfast.” Bilbo looked delighted at his knowledge, and he took his seat feeling warm. Thrain’s eyes were wide.

“I imagine you did not receive such during your captivity.” His eyes went to Bilbo’s wrist, which were still too thin for Thorin’s taste. He had seen a fair few hobbits in his lifetime, and he would see Bilbo returned to their typical plump state. He enjoyed how soft Bilbo was, and wanted him to have the padding that was natural for his race.

“Nope,” Bilbo said, sounding perfectly cheerful. He grabbed a scone and broke it as he always did, “they weren’t terribly big on feeding. I might never eat any sort of gruel again.” He paused before taking a bite. “Though at least they didn’t try and poison me through it.”

“Yes, my son told me of your excellent nose. I thank you for keeping him safe.”

Bilbo’s eyes widened in surprise and shot to Thorin who smiled in return. He felt unnaturally tense, but refused to let it show. “I believe he was more offended that someone would try to harm me through food.”

“Of course. What is the world coming to if you can’t even trust your meal?” Bilbo took another bite of his scone and Thorin passed him the clotted cream. He knew how the hobbit enjoyed it and they had not had a chance to partake of it. The smile he earned from Bilbo was well worth it.

He looked back up to find his father smiling at them, and it appeared genuine.

“Master Baggins?”

“My liege?” The hobbit stiffened in his seat. 

Thrain rose from his seat and went to Bilbo’s side. He knelt on the ground there, and took Bilbo’s hand in both of his. He kept his eyes lowered. Thorin tensed at having Thrain beside Bilbo, where he could not reach him first. His hand landed on the hilt of his sword without even realizing he’d made the movement. Despite his father’s humble posture, he did not move it. “I apologize for my hasty and cruel actions. I treated you as less than you are. I greeted your loyalty with mistrust, and your peace with rage. You have been chosen by my son, and I would amend the wrong I have done. I do not expect your trust, but I would ask that you accompany us to Erebor. I should like to declare you the Prince’s Consort before my kingdom. Regardless, this I do swear. I will never again raise a harmful hand to you. Only my son may repay any sort of treachery.”

“Do you still believe me treacherous?” Bilbo did not hesitate in his asking, though he did look uncomfortable to have Thrain kneeling at his side.

Thrain flinched and gave his head a slow shake. “No. But such is the life of royalty. We must assume all would wish us harm, and that all are hiding ill intentions. To do otherwise would be to open ourselves, and our people, to harm.”

And that was the problem. Up to the point where his hand had closed around Bilbo’s throat, Thrain had not acted excessively cruel. He had been paranoid for Thorin’s safety, for the future of his kingdom. Had Thorin been in a similar position, he too would have been wary. Thorin could have easily forgiven him such paranoia (even through his annoyance at being ignored.)

It was the violence that had broken their bond. The moment he had tried to kill Bilbo. And now Thorin was wary of the madness that had lit his father’s eyes. If it reared its head again, there was nothing that could stop the king from trying to harm Bilbo.

What had caused it though? That was the question. His father had never shown such greed with anything, certainly not Thorin.

“Good. Then I hear and accept your apology and oath.” Thrain met his eyes, and something passed between them. He rose a moment later and returned to his seat and Thorin relaxed. His father released a long breath and Thorin watched as his hands unclenched. There was a tremble in them.

Had he been that nervous, or was it that hard to be near Bilbo? Did he truly distrust him so?

His hobbit continued to sit still for a moment before his head snapped to Thorin’s, green eyes wide. “Wait, Prince Consort?”

The panic in his voice made Thorin’s stomach tighten unpleasantly. He gave his head a firm nod and felt his expression slip into something neutral. “Yes. That is what accepting my  betrothal braid meant. I am a prince, and as my spouse, you would be the Prince’s Consort. Eventual King’s Consort.”

Bilbo mouthed a tiny ‘O’. His eyes were still large, and it made Thorin ache. Such was his life. He had lost many a friend to the reality of the public eye. It was difficult for those not born in it to handle. 

For Thorin, there had never been another kind of life.

“I assure you, it is a prestigious position, but not necessarily complicated. You need not be involved in many politics to wed my son.” Thrain added helpfully. Thorin felt a rush of affection for his father, but it did not relieve the worry. 

Bilbo waved his hand as if that was obvious. “No, I don’t mind the politics. I just never thought about that bit. It was obvious  you were a prince… But to be royalty by marriage. Goodness. My fellow hobbits will never let me hear the end of it.”

They would think it scandalous to be wed to a prince? In what culture was that not something to strive for? How strange hobbits were.

Thrain’s face was contorted in confusion as well. At least Thorin wasn’t alone in it.

Bilbo gave his head a little shake. “Mmm. That’ll take a little getting used to.”

His body relaxed. Bilbo would get used to it then. He would make certain the hobbit did not have to bear many duties. His dwarrows would make certain he did not have to be in the public eye.

After the last few months, he would do most anything to keep the green-eyed hobbit at his side.

“So,” Thrain said, sounding strangely strained. “Tell me of your escape. I did not have a chance to hear much about it.” Thorin did not mention that it was Thrain’s own fault that he was unaware.

“Oh,” Bilbo blinked, looked at Thorin, smiled, and dropped his hands to his lap. “Well, it was your sons idea, of course. He came up with everything once he knew their intentions. We learned what we could from them, and I examined everything I could any time I was taken for questioning. When his food was drugged, we knew it was time to escape.”

“I pretended that I had eaten the food they gave me. They believed me to be unconscious and dragged me out of my cell. They then unlocked Bilbo’s cell, and we attacked.”

“We then snuck to the weapons room. I disappeared and helped distract the other guards.”

“Disappeared?” Thrain leaned forward and lifted his eyebrow in interest. “How?”

Thorin cut in before anyone else could speak. He would not go back down the magic trail. “He has a trinket, a simple ring, that allows him to walk unseen.”

“Indeed?” Thrain’s left hand brushed against the ring on his right hand. The ring that had belonged to Thror, and his father before him. The ruling ring.

Bilbo nodded his head and reached into his pocket. He pulled the plain gold band from his pocket and held it out in his palm. “I won it in a game of… riddles…” He trailed off, but Thorin was no longer listening to the hobbit. Thrain had gone utterly rigid in his chair, and his hands were gripping the table tightly enough that his knuckles were white. His eyes were locked on the ring, and Thorin saw the madness rising once more.

“Leave.” Thrain grit out, his eyes widening as a strange cracking noise filled the air. The table was breaking under his hands. “Leave now!” He bellowed the last word, standing as he spoke. Thorin did not wait for any other words. He stood up, taking Bilbo with him, and retreated with his hand on his sword.

-[]-[]-[]-

They retreated to the garden, under Dwalin and Bifur’s guard. Bilbo did not say a word, and Thorin had none to share. Bifur stayed at the door, keeping an eye on anyone that might potentially come. 

The madness had taken his father once more. He had watched as it consumed his father’s blue eyes.

Such had not been the case with Thror. The madness had taken over slowly, achingly slowly, until there was nothing of Thror left in his pale gaze. It had not hit suddenly, and disappeared as quickly. Once it had come, it had not left. 

Was he to lose his father to the madness of desire? What was the source of the madness? What had invoked the greed? He knew Thror’s obsession had been the Arkenstone. By all appearances, Thorin was Thrain’s obsession.

“I am so sorry.” Bilbo’s voice was heartbroken and almost ashamed. It was then that Thorin realized he had his back to the hobbit and was staring at a tree with his hands clasped behind his back. He was standing straight and glaring. Hardly reassuring to the hobbit after what they had just come from. “I-maybe Radagast was right.”

“About what?” Dwalin growled the words out. He was giving Bilbo a hard stare, one Thorin didn’t care for. Bilbo seemed unperturbed by it.

“He said that the magic lingering on me had grown stronger. He suspected it was a reason Thrain and I weren’t getting along.”

“Stronger?” Thorin stepped closer, a frown tugging his lips down. That made little sense. The magic would have come from Dul Guldor-woudn’t it have? Had it been put on Bilbo by one of the elves?

His hand fisted at his side at the mere thought. He would ring their tall necks if they had harmed his hobbit. 

“Yes, stronger.” Worry flickered in Bilbo’s eyes, his gaze dropping to Thorin’s fisted hands. He stepped closer, the need to protect impossible to ignore. “Radagast performed a lot of checks on me.” The burglar’s hand twitched at his side, as though he wanted to reach for something but stopped himself. “He nearly didn’t let me leave.”

“I don’t understand what happened. He snapped.” Dwalin fairly near growled the words out. He had forgotten that Dwalin had been standing there the entire time. That he had seen. 

Bilbo jumped at Dwalin’s growl, and Thorin noticed his hand travel to his pocket. There was something he was holding back. Something he knew that he was not saying. “Dwalin, leave us here. Join Bifur and guard the door.” He met his bodyguard's gaze and held it until Dwalin nodded his head. The guard backed away, bowed, and left them alone in their small greenhouse. He waited until the door was shut, and then waited a beat longer to make certain there was no anger on his chest. He turned towards Bilbo and found the hobbit staring at the grass, biting his lip. He looked small and uncertain. Aware that there was something wrong, and that Thorin was going to ask about it.

Now was not the time to bandy words. He had given up his father’s trust for the hobbit in front of him. There would be nothing hidden. No betrayal could be tolerated if they were to wed. They would one day rule Erebor. They would have to be united in all things. “Do you have something which you would like to tell me?” He remained where he stood though he would like to draw nearer. 

Bilbo would not meet his eyes.

That realization made anger, quick and hot, surge in his belly. He squashed it down and turned towards his betrothed. To this point they had faced danger, hate, and opposition. They had fought several forces, but they had not fought. Not truly. He had watched his mother and father fight, viciously at times. It was a part of what made them a force to be reckoned with. They were not afraid to be disagreed, but they’d be damned if they did not reach an agreement before they left the room.

He would not leave either. He could see the determination in his mother’s eyes, and prayed for the same determination. “Bilbo, do not lie to me. Not now.” The words were harsher than they should have been, but they did the trick. Bilbo flinched again, and his hand went to his pocket. He pulled his fist out, his hand trembling. He turned the clenched fist up and held it for a moment. Thorin could not look away. His heart was beating too quickly and he could not get any air. He leaned forward, drawn for a reason he couldn’t understand, and didn’t even notice.

Bilbo opened his hand and the gold band gleamed in the light.


	21. Chapter 21

The golden band was as un-extraordinary as it had ever been. It gleamed in the dull light of the garden, but it was not brilliant. It was rubbed dull, no longer as splendid as it would have been when it was first made. There were no jewels, or etchings to make it of greater value. It was, in every regard, unimpressive.

It should have been forgettable, yet it was not. He had never actually seen it that clearly. Only ever as a flash. It was normally in Bilbo’s pocket, or on his hand.

Strange that something so small should seem so utterly significant.

“Your ring?” His voice was rough, confused about why the ring was being shown to him. He stepped closer to Bilbo and lifted his eyes to the hobbit in front of him. The hobbit’s gaze was locked on the ring, and his eyes seemed closer in color to emeralds than the grass that they usually reminded Thorin of. They looked like precious jewels. Clearer than any others he had seen. A thousand colors reflected in their depths, like light reflecting off the fine jewels.

He stepped closer.

“Yes.” The burglar bit his bottom lip again before releasing it to continue speaking. It looked plump and pinker for having been bitten. The same way it had looked when they’d both found their release the night before. Then it had been such a way because of Thorin’s teeth.

It took him a moment to realize he wasn’t listening to his hobbit. He blinked and refocused his attention, ignoring the way Bilbo’s curls gleamed like fine gold in the dim light of the garden.

“-and I noticed strange things happening. The creature, whatever twisted thing it was, realized the absence of this Ring, and started to wail.”

 _Ring_ _._ The way Bilbo said ‘ring’ made it clear that the word should be capitalized. It was apparently of great importance. Not some mere trinket. How had he never noticed the way his hobbit spoke the word?

“I slipped the Ring on accidentally and disappeared-without really knowing that was what had happened. The world turns grey, shadowed, when you wear the Ring. Gandalf thinks its the void, the world on the edge of ours. The one that the Wraiths, whisps, and whights are forced to walk. That’s why he thinks it allows me to go unseen. It… I’ve never had any ‘evil’ when I’ve used it before.”

His hobbit was growing paler so that his skin looked almost silvery. As though he was bathed once more in starlight. The night they had sought refuge in the tree sprang to the forefront of his mind and he wanted to hold his hobbit as he had not been allowed to then.

“Why then would it come into effect now? Why would evil cling to you now?” He stepped closer and grasped Bilbo’s shoulder. He could feel the heat of his hobbit’s skin through the thin cotton of his shirt. His burglar’s eyes remained locked on the Ring, and his hand trembled. Thorin wanted his gaze. He wanted Bilbo to look at him.

“Because Dol Guldur is an _evil_ place.” His hobbit’s voice dropped as he spoke, and the note made a strange heat burn through Thorin’s belly. The heat of it curled up his spine and made him inhale sharply. His hand tightened on Bilbo’s shoulder and it took more strength than it should have not to squeeze his hobbit too tightly.

“And do you believe that Gandalf was correct in his fears? That something was awoken that should not have been?”

“If it had?” Bilbo’s voice was meek, and the heat surged all the hotter. Thorin leaned closer, his pulse spiking as he realized what the heat was. The desire was undeniable, and utterly strange. Perhaps it was because of the time they had already spent together in this garden. He could remember it all well, his burglar spread out beneath him like a feast for only Thorin to devour. His cries for only Thorin’s ears. His hobbit would look even more lovely now. Spread against the grass as Thorin thrust into him. His willing body pliant and open for only Thorin. Thorin’s to take, to mark, to have. Always _Thorin’s._

Bilbo’s hair truly looked like gold in this light. How rare of a jewel his hobbit was-

Thorin released Bilbo’s shoulder and took two, quick, steps back. He exhaled forcibly and gave his head a shake. Rather like a dog trying to get water out of its ears.

“Thorin?”

“Put it away.” He snarled the words, not meaning to be harsh but needing the strange golden thing out of his view. His thoughts were muddy, his blood hot, and his heart pounding for his hobbit.

His hobbit? When had Bilbo become _his_? Was that not what irritated him so badly with his father?

Bilbo was a treasure-one of greatest value-but he was not something to be hoarded. Not something that could truly _belong_ to anyone.

Bilbo pocketed the ring and looked frightened. “What is it?”

Thorin exhaled again and relaxed his hands. He had clenched them into fist without realizing he did the action. His entire body felt tense, and warm, and everything about Bilbo was distracting. From the plump of his lips to the pink of his cheeks. He wanted to nibble the curve of his ear, to taste the junction of his neck and ja-

He gave his head another shake and inhaled. Bilbo stared at him with worry for a moment before taking a step closer.

“You’re flushed. Are you okay?”

“My father-” his voice broke as Bilbo’s hand caught his. His hobbit wove their fingers together and squeezed when Thorin met his eyes. “My father swore that he would not harm you. I will not either.”

“Erm,” Bilbo frowned, confusion evident in his emerald eyes. “Is that a worry?”

“I nearly lost control of myself just then. I could hardly think.” Thorin let his eyes slip closed as he took two more breaths. He felt… odd. Not himself. Certainly not as if he was fully in control of his body. Almost like he was just waking up from some drugged sleep.

“Then? When I pulled the Ring out?” He nodded his head and opened his eyes. The hobbit was so very lovely. “How did you nearly lose control? What of?”

“My restraint.” He grunted the words and Bilbo caught his other hand.

“Meaning?”

He wanted to take his hobbit in the flower bed without care of others, or if Bilbo had really wanted to. He had wanted to possess. “I wanted to rip your clothes from you and take you hear and now.” He exhaled, his pulse spiking at the mere thought. “I do not know what brought the urge on.” He was always attracted to Bilbo, of course, and had been for sometime. But the burning had hit him without warning or cause.

“Oh.” Bilbo’s eyes were wide and he swallowed thickly. The tip of his ears had turned red. It was far more charming than it should have been. Oh how much he wanted.

The hobbit licked his bottom lip, and Thorin’s gaze snapped down to watch the tip of his burglar’s tongue. Bilbo stepped closer. Apparently he was not opposed to Thorin’s desire. Gratifying, but still distracting. He tightened his grip on Bilbo’s hand and exhaled again as he mentally recited a list of his ancestors. It did little to cool his ardour, but did help to unfog his mind once more.

“It came on suddenly, quicker than I could prepare myself.” And curse his tongue because now he was thinking of preparing Bilbo. The noises his hobbit had made were utterly delicious-

He reeled his thoughts in once more.

“Wait, like I was yours?” Bilbo frowned, his eyes a little hazy. He looked to be having trouble focusing as well. Thorin was not the only one gripping tightly.

Thorin lowered his gaze to their hands. His mind returned to the previous day. The gleam in his father’s eyes as he had claimed that Thorin was _his._

Was he too to go insane?

“Do you think it was the Ring?” He could make no answer, he could not even raise his gaze. He feared he would lose clarity if he did.

Bilbo stepped closer once more. “You know, your eyes are quite incredible.” He looked up in surprise, to find Bilbo smiling softly at him. A strange kind of adoration in his gaze. One Thorin was still unused to receiving. His hands were released and Bilbo’s hands moved to cup his cheeks, the hobbit’s fingers threading through his beard easily. He was not strong enough to hold Thorin if the dwarf did not wish to stay, but he took the action for the request it was and kept his gaze up.

“That was the first thing I noticed about you in that dreary cell. How very bright your eyes were.” Bilbo’s smile broadened as he spoke, and Thorin wanted to reply that he too had noticed Bilbo’s eyes. He remained silent. “I am aware that you are a dwarf.” He added. He stepped closer, the tip of his toes brushing against Thorin’s boots. “Your race is, wrongly perhaps, known for its greed. You lot value things of worth. I was aware that being betrothed would mean a certain amount of possessiveness.”

“I will not lose myself to greed.” His words were thick, almost a growl. It was a struggle to speak at all. “To madness.”

“But what brought it on?” Bilbo still held his gaze, and he could not quite stop himself from leaning forward. The desire to be close seemed to be in his very soul.

“I-” He cut himself off sharply as the door to the garden rattled with a knock.

“Sire!” Dwalin bellowed, his voice coming through the door. Bilbo reeled back, mumbling indistinctly in quenya. Thorin took a slow breath and forced his heart to calm.

“What?” The words were harsh, angry sounding, but he didn’t really care.

“Gandalf has arrived!”

Thorin’s blood ran cold as Bilbo’s lip instantly spread in a grin.

-[]-[]-[]-

Gandalf was back. The simple sentence was enough to make Bilbo’s heart thump with excitement while it made Thorin’s seem to falter. Bilbo was taken away, again, and Thorin was left alone. He returned to his room with Dwalin and Bifur, and had Balin sent to check on his father.

It was a wearisome thought, that whatever darkness had woken in Dol Guldur might be capable of invoking madness in his family.

Though he had to wait less than ten minutes before his father sent for him, they seemed endless. He thought endlessly about what had happened, replaying each moment in his mind.

It seemed worryingly like that had not been his first moment of possessiveness. It had risen up at other times, but never so strongly and completely.

He had not actually been to his father’s chamber during their stay in Mirkwood. He had visited it once on a different trip, but he had not visited the woods with his father since that trip.

He entered now uncertain of his welcome. Dwalin led the way, and Bifur trailed after them to guard the door.

His father was standing in front of the window, his eyes trained on the stream that ran behind his room. It was impressive of course, but not his father’s taste. Like all dwarrows, he found rock far lovelier. “Leave us, Dwalin.”

His body guard met his gaze, and did not leave until Thorin nodded his head. Such loyalty was rare, and one of his greatest treasures.

The door shut and Thorin strode further into the room with steady steps. He went to his father’s side, the strange tension that had filled him during their breakfast already thick in the air.

“Thank you for coming. I would apologize for my hasty actions earlier. I do not know what came over me. I had no time-”

“I understand.”

“No, I did not wish to make-”

“I _understand_ _,_ adad.” The khuzdul term slipped off his tongue easily. He had not used it since their reunion, but it felt right to do so now. Now that he was beginning to understand.

It made his father still, and Thorin watched as his entire body went rigid. The king did not breathe for a long moment, and then he turned slowly to Thorin.

“Meaning?”

How like Bilbo he sounded. It would have made Thorin smile in less dire circumstances. Now he could only speak. He was too weary and worried for anything else. “I felt the same thing. The need to possess where it had not been before.” Thrain’s face contorted with pain and his hand reached forward to grab Thorin’s.  

“My son, Ghivash, I had hoped you would never taste the terrors of the curse that plagues my family.” He stilled himself before he touched, apparently uncertain of his welcome.

The bruises on Bilbo’s throat were the only thing that kept him from reaching forward. He had fought the madness off where his father had not.

Perhaps he had freed himself before it had truly gotten hold? He had endured only a taste. The merest glimpse of what it could be.

But it was _his_ treasure that Thrain had hurt.

He changed the subject rather than dwell on such things.“Bilbo is meeting with Gandalf now. I believe the wizard will find that something has stirred in Dol Guldur. Something that should not have been tampered with.”

He couldn’t fight the strange dread in his gut that the evil might not have stayed in Dol Guldur. What had followed them in the dark of the forest?

“I think, perhaps, if the wizard and your hobbit are willing, that we should return to Erebor. I long for the halls of our mountain. Putting some distance between Master Baggins and that evil place would probably be advantageous.”

Bilbo would meet with him once he was finished with Gandalf. He had given Thorin his oath to such ends. He would learn what the wizard wanted, ask Bilbo his own intentions, and take a rest. He would then seek Gandalf and ask for Bilbo’s hand.

Then they would learn how to destroy the evil. He would not keep Bilbo if there was a risk of madness. It would be better to suffer the emptiness of rejection than to harm Bilbo in a rage.


	22. Chapter 22

Bilbo greeted him with a tight hug. The hobbit’s smaller arms wrapped firmly around his middle while his cheek pressed against his chest. He held as tightly as he could, and had Thorin not been a dwarf, he might have found it hard to breathe. 

Bilbo had flung himself at Thorin with abandon the minute the door had been opened, so the dwarf had not had a chance to say or do anything. He’d barely managed not to tip backwards and now found himself standing awkwardly with his arms in the air. He blinked in mild surprise and looked down to see that he still had a hobbit firmly pressed to his chest.

He wrapped his arms around him to help steady the burglar. 

He had already learned that hobbits were exceptionally affectionate creatures. He’d figured that out while they escaped. Waking up each morning with a hobbit cuddling against him had left little room for such doubt. This did not feel like affection. It felt like fear, something Thorin was so very tired of.

“Azyunguh?” He held a little tighter and realized he’d spoken in khuzdul. “Bilbo?”

He was not given an actual verbal response. The hobbit simply leaned back the smallest amount and looked up at him. Their eyes met, and then Bilbo was moving quicker than Thorin had ever seen him move. He had his arms around Thorin’s neck, his legs around Thorin’s waist, and his mouth against Thorin’s lips. 

And Thorin found himself being very, very, thoroughly kissed. Bilbo kissed him fiercely, with pent up need, and and a longing that he was helpless to do anything but respond to. He gripped Bilbo’s bum with his hands, holding the hobbit up and pulling him closer. They traded deep, searching kisses. Endless kisses of passion until Thorin forgot his earlier worry and knew nothing but the warmth of Bilbo and the weight of him in his arms. His skin burned with delight and he had to have more of the burglar.

He made it to the bed with no idea of how he did so. Bilbo was laid on top of it and Thorin took several long moments to simply stare at the feast before him.

His hobbit was gorgeous. All for him. There were only so many hours left till morning. It was late enough that Gandalf probably wouldn’t disturb them until morning, but it was already running out. There morning had been cut short, and his skin had felt tight since the garden. 

And Bilbo was staring at him as if he could set the sun should he so choose. He felt powerful in a way that was utterly unfamiliar to him. One that was intoxicating. He wanted more of it. Craved it.

It was easy to pull his tunic off, and he had no care as he dropped it to the floor. Bilbo’s eyes fastened to his chest and scanned him hungrily. There were still a few bruises where his rib had broken and the captors had not been kind, but they had faded and his chest hair covered most of it. His Burglar met his gaze once more and opened his mouth.

He cut off whatever Bilbo might have said with the pressure of his mouth, his arm wrapped around his hobbit’s waist and his hand wrapped around the back of Bilbo’s neck, trying to pull him closer. He kissed him till he was entirely breathless, his tongue twisting with his Burglar’s.

He could never get enough of Bilbo. Even still he burned. He needed more. He used his greater size to pin Bilbo to the bed as he sat up. It took him a moment to figure out just what he wanted. He had to touch, of course, the urge was irresistible. He had to feel the soft skin beneath his fingers and taste it on his lips.

“Thorin.” Bilbo keened as Thorin's hands went to the shirt that was keeping him away from the soft flesh. His hobbit's shoulder was revealed and he dropped back down to taste it. He shifted his legs and pushed up so he could unfasten Bilbo's trousers while he focused on the chest. Bilbo’s head fell back as he worked, and the music of his voice filled the air. He pressed up to Thorin, begging for more touch that Thorin could not resist. 

He pressed back to Bilbo, covering him completely. His hobbit could not move, could not escape his onslaught.

He returned his attention to the shirt that he'd nearly gotten off and fumbled with getting it off Bilbo's shoulders. His hobbit's hand tangled in Thorin's hair and pulled, and he lost all clear thought for a moment. When he regained it, he had ripped Bilbo's shirt and his burglar was now bare.

Bilbo stared up at him with dark eyes, his mouth gaping open as he gasped for breath. "Breeches," he managed. He tightened his grip on Thorin's hair and bucked up against him, wonderfully bare and warm. "Off, now."

He got up just long enough to get his breeches off and climbed back on top of Bilbo. His hands found Bilbo’s waist and gripped the scare there as he bit the junction of neck and jaw. He earned a yelp from his hobbit and a hand on his shoulder. He could feel the faint bite of Bilbo’s nails where he gripped him. 

He sucked on the skin under his lips, imagining a dark mark appearing. One that would block the marks his father had made. One that would obviously show he was Thorin’s. That would show Thorin had had him, and would have him again.

He wanted to take what was being given. He wanted to take what was his and stake his claim for all in this miserable world to see it. 

The thought came on suddenly, and when he realized the extent of it, he sprang up. He was gasping, practically panting, for want of air. His hands were too tight in their grip, and he could see the indentations where his teeth had bitten into Bilbo’s skin. It would be dark by the morning. As dark as Thrain’s marks had been.

His skin was positively burning and his blood felt like fire in his veins. He wanted to take Bilbo more than he wanted to continue breathing. 

Yet he would not. Not with such thoughts. Not with the possibility of madness lurking around them.  

He pulled himself free from Bilbo’s hand and rolled them over so he was on his back. Bilbo sat perched on his chest, eyes wide. He blinked down for a moment, and then a sly smile claimed his darkening lips. “A repeat of last night?”

Oh… That was certainly a solution. He could not trust himself in this way, not right now, but perhaps-He could not take, but....

He leaned up on his elbows and grinned at the hobbit even as his body burned with strange want. “Not quite. I’m thinking a little change is in order.” Bilbo leaned down, his smile broadening as his hands settled on Thorin’s chest.

“Like?”

He wanted to touch everywhere, wanted to taste and explore, to truly hoard knowledge of Bilbo. The muscles in his stomach were fluttery and tight with want and anticipation. His eyes slipped close as Bilbo’s leg dragged up his side and his mouth dropped to tease Thorin’s ears. The hobbit’s toes traced along his calf and the fur on his foot should have been ticklish but wasn’t in the least. Something deep in his chest seemed to throb at the touches.

He pulled Bilbo closer, all soft skin and shining hair. He touched and licked and sucked at the hobbit’s neck, drawing moans and shivers from Bilbo steadily.

To see Bilbo now… to have this hobbit spread out over him, his eyes hooded and skin flushed with desire. To have him vulnerable and open, ever open to all of Thorin, it called to Thorin as nothing ever had or would. It made madness seem enjoyable, alluring. If he could have this as  his , what wrong could there be?

Because the gleam, the sparkle in Bilbo's eyes that had drawn Thorin from the first sighting? It would fade. And the loss of it would be Thorin’s doing. 

Bilbo’s eyes were closed right now and his head was tilted back with a stunned, soft cry of need as Thorin’s hand wandered down his side. He traced the soft skin of his belly, thinner than it should be, and finally to the hobbit’s need. He wrapped a hand around it easily while Bilbo’s hips canted up into his hand.

Such a powerful feeling.

He tugged Bilbo’s head down to claim his lips.

-[]-[]-[]-

The sun had long since faded, and the fire was the only light in the room. Bilbo was beside him on the bed, his breath calmed and his skin still a little flushed. His honey-colored curls were spread out on top of the pillow and Thorin’s hands were tangled in it, absently making braids in the locks. The hobbit’s body was curled near his, and he could feel each breath the burglar took. His foot was tucked against Thorin’s calf and the hair was still not ticklish.

He made a braid of royalty and took up a few more strands of the silky hair. His fingers wove without thought. It was going to be the Azyungal braid. The braid of lover.

Bilbo’s hand trailed down his chest, the fingers gentle and cool spots against his skin. He dropped his gaze from the braid to look at Bilbo and found the hobbit was frowning. The memory of Bilbo’s greeting hug returned, and dread crawled up his spine.

Something wasn’t right.

“ Azyungaluh ?” The frown grew all the sadder, and Thorin removed his hands from the curls. He wrapped them around Bilbo instead and pulled him closer.

“What?”

“My lover.” He would not allow a change of topic. “What is wrong?”

The hobbit looked up at him, eyes dry but haunted. “Gandalf wanted to talk to your father when he finished with Radagast.”

Thorin’s eyes dropped to Bilbo’s neck. The bruises were all but gone where they had been dark mere hours earlier. Gandalf had helped heal them. His own mark was already dark.

It did not bode well for his father. “Do I need to find them?” He was angry, furious even, that his father had injured Bilbo. That he had sought to kill him in his madness, but he would not sit by as his father was murdered. 

“No, he won’t kill him. He might harm him, but not permanently. He’s going to question and examine him. He-” Bilbo swallowed and made to drop his hand. Thorin caught it before he could. “He… I…” He met Thorin’s gaze once more, his eyes damp. “He thinks it was my fault.” The hobbit’s voice cracked on the words before breaking completely on ‘fault.’ He lowered his head slightly and his curls fell to block the rest of his face from Thorin’s view. He released his breath slowly, the noise loud in the quiet air.

Thorin simply stared, lost at what to say. He did not let go.

“The magic?”

“He agrees with Radagast. There is something dark clinging to me. ‘Like a cloak.’ According to him.” He fidgeted and slipped his foot away from Thorin’s side. “He warned me not wear the Ring again.”

Well that should be easy enough to manage. There would be little need to disappear with Gandalf here. 

“So what now?”

“I wait.” Bilbo shrugged. “He’ll take a while with your father, and then he’ll want to speak with Radagast again. That could take hours in and of itself. I suspect it’ll be tomorrow before I’m sent for again.” Bilbo’s shoulders were slumped. 

“And at that time?”

“I don’t know. He mentioned Rivendell and Lothlorien. Maybe Orthanc? The Shire? I have no idea.”

So soon? They would leave to so far a country? None of those were near to Erebor. It would take a month to reach any of them, if not longer. And then only if he was welcome. He would lose Bilbo. Now, after all they had fought, all he had lost, he would still lose Bilbo.

There seemed little point in mentioning Erebor now. He would hold his tongue and remain strong. He would not beg for Bilbo to stay. He could not follow the hobbit. He would not leave Erebor without her heir. He loved his people too deeply to even consider the option. She needed him now, especially after so long an absence.

The sun was already set behind him, damningly. There were mere hours before the morning. Mere hours before Gandalf came for the hobbit. The magnificent Burglar would then disappear from Thorin’s life as suddenly as he had appeared in it.

Fitting that he should disappear like smoke in the air. His ability to disappear had saved them in Dol Guldur, and would now condemn them in Mirkwood. 

“Have you anywhere else to be?” Bilbo shook his head and looked as if he wanted to say more. “Then will you stay here?” The hobbit met his gaze, his green eyes large and damp. He nodded his head.

“If you’ll have me.”

Thorin gave his head a decisive nod. They would stay right here until morning. The hobbit was practically radiating sorrow.

“You know, you never did tell me why you like Oak trees.”

The non sequitur had him frowning, mildly confused. Bilbo seemed to thrive on surprising Thorin. He rarely did what was expected. Thorin didn’t feel as though he were all that surprising to the hobbit. He should like to remedy that before the morning…

“Oak trees?”

“You always pick them. Whether it’s to sleep in, or simply lean against. Even when we needed a walking stick, you picked oak. You seem attached to that specific plant. Why?”

“Because my title is not simply ‘Thorin son of Thrain or Thorin prince of Erebor. My epithet is ‘Thorin Oakenshield.’”

“Oakenshield?” The hobbit tilted his head. The sorrow seemed more tangible. Thorin could nearly taste it, and he certainly could feel it.

“When my Grandfather fought to reclaim Khazad-Dum-Moria in the Common Tongue- I was assailed by a truly vial orc that went by the name of ‘Azog.’ He managed to disarm me and thought he was victorious. I took up an oaken branch as a shield and defeated him.” He had decapitated him to avenge the decapitation of his grandfather. It had eased the pang of loss even though they had failed to reclaim Moria. “For that act I became known as Oakenshield.”

“Do you still have the shield?” Bilbo shuffled a little closer. The fur of his foot brushed against Thorin’s leg. 

“Yes. It is displayed on the walls of my room. I bear it whenever we go to battle.” He paused and considered Bilbo for a time before continuing. “Why the sudden interest?”

“Because I want to know everything about you. I want to know details about your past-who you were, what you did, how you lived. I want to know what your favorite season is and see your face glowing in the starlight of your mountain. I want to hear your laugh echoing through the throne room and watch you lead your people. I want to see your hair spread out on the fields of my home and lay with you there. I don’t know if I’ll get the chance for any of that.”

“So you ask about oaks?” And now he leaned closer because he wanted to, and saw no reason to deny himself such a thing. There were so few hours left.

“So I ask about oaks.” Bilbo slipped his hand up to Thorin’s face and dragged his fingers through the dwarf’s beard. He tugged him down enough that he could stretch up and meet Thorin’s lips without Thorin’ having to move.

It was possibly the saddest kiss of his life. Shocking since he had kissed Bilbo before facing probable death. It was a wish, one Thorin was tired of wishing.


End file.
